THE 
SMILE  OF  THE  SPHINX 


"You  are  teaching  me  the  meaning  of  heaven  upon  earth,*' 
she  murmured  dreamily 

[Chapter  XXI II] 


THE  SMILE 
OF  THE  SPHINX 


BY 

MARGUERITE  BOUVET 

Author  of  "Sweet  William,"  etc.,  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
H.  S.  DE  LA  Y 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
19H 


Copyright 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1911 


Published  October,  J911 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 


The  author  wishes  to  express  her  thanks  and  gratitude 
to  Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell  for  granting  to  her  permis- 
sion to  quote  several  passages  from  his  poetic  works 


W.  If.  If  all  Printing  (Cuuty any 
CCJjiraga 


foil 


Who  have  inspired  the  better  pages  of  this 
book ;  to  you  who  wear — not  the  smile  of  the 
Sphinx,  inscrutable,  impenetrable,  unchang- 
ing— but  the  genial  smile  of  friendliness  and 
good-fellowship,  unashamed  of  its  sincerity 
and  candor ;  the  smile  that  reflects  heart  and 
soul  from  the  crystalline  alembic  of  a  mind 
distilling  none  but  fresh  pure  thoughts,  leav- 
ing no  riddle  to  be  solved,  but  prompting  the 
question:  "Why  are  there  not  more  in  the 
world  like  you  ?  " 


2134390 


"  By  thine  own  tears  thy 
Song  must  tears  beget." 

—  CATULLUS. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     THE    DOLLIVERS   IN    TOWN         .         .         .13 
II     MATILDA    COMES   UNDER    THE    INFLUENCE 

OF  THE  SMILE         .         .         .         .         .33 
III     HELENE  DOYLE  AND  HER  ENTOURAGE         .     52 
IV     BENEDICT:      THE    ONE   BLESSED         .         .     72 
V     BENEDICT   PURSUES    Miss    DOLLIVER'S    AC- 
QUAINTANCE .  .         ...     8,8 
VI     THE     HADLEYS    AT    HOME         .         .         .97 
VII     THE      YOUNG      LADY      GRADUATES      ARE 

LAUNCHED  UPON  THE  SOCIAL  SEA         .  116 

VIII     THE  HADLEYS  ALSO  ANTICIPATE      .    .          .139 

IX     THE     ATWOOD     BALL         ....  161 

X     BENEDICT  SUCCUMBS  TO  NATURE'S  FORCES   187 

XI     EFFECT    OF   MATILDA'S    VICTORY          .          .  210 

XII     MATILDA     MEETS     PREFERMENT     IN     THE 

FRENCH    CAPITAL  ....  225 

XIII  BENEDICT     TURNS    TO     HELENE         .         .  242 

XIV  AN      EPOCH-MARKING      LETTER         .         .  257 
XV     HELENE    STEERS    THE    CRAFT    INTO    MORE 

PEACEFUL  WATERS  ....  274 

XVI     MR.  DOLLIVER  WRITES  A  LETTER  AND  THE 

UNEXPECTED    HAPPENS  .         .         .291 

XVII     MATILDA  RETURNS  TO  HER  FATHER'S  HOME  307 
XVIII     MATILDA  is  COMFORTED  BY  HER  FRIENDS     .  319 
XIX     THE  SMILE  OF  THE  SPHINX:   HELENE'S  IN- 
TERPRETATION    THEREOF          .          .          .  332 
XX     BENEDICT  CANNOT  ACCEPT  THE  INEVITABLE  349 
XXI     BENEDICT  PAYS  A  RUDE  PENALTY         .         .  368 
XXII     HELENE    EXPERIENCES    A     REACTION          .  386 
XXIII     HELENE  DOYLE  EXPECTS  THE  WORST,  AND 

MEETS     THE     BEST  .  401 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  You  are  teaching  me  the  meaning  of  heaven  upon 

earth,"    she    murmured    dreamily     .         .     Frontispiece 

"  Father,  we  ought  to  have  a  butler  "         .         .         .92 

"  I  did  not  know,  I  did  not  think  you  cared  so  much  "  206 

She  bound  his  head  with  the  veil  she  tore  from  her 

hat  .  382 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  DOLLIVEES  IN  TOWN 

"  Some  for  the  Glories  of  this  World;   and  some 
Sigh  for  the  Prophet's  Paradise  to  come; 
Ah,  take  the  Cash,  and  let  the  Credit  go, 
Nor  heed  the  rumble  of  a  distant  Drum!  " 

IT  was  a  chill,  gray  afternoon  in  late  Novem- 
ber. A  sharp  wind  was  clipping  through 
the  bare  trees  of  the  avenue  with  a  wailing  note. 
A  fine,  persistent  rain  fell  and  froze  upon  the 
broad  flagstones,  leaving  its  frosted  patterns 
upon  the  glistening  window  panes  of  the  great 
mansions  that  overlooked  the  street;  not  a  very 
cheerful  outlook  or  salubrious  atmospheric  con- 
dition for  poor  Mrs.  Dolliver,  who  suffered 
keenly  with  rheumatism  and  from  a  deep,  habit- 
ual depression.  To-day,  her  mental  depression 

[13] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  she  was  separated 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  from  her  only  child, 
"Tildy." 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  her  sixteen-year- 
old  Matilda  left  for  the  "  Seminary."  To  the 
longing  mother  it  seemed  almost  like  three  years, 
and  the  inclement  weather  only  added  to  her 
melancholy  state  of  mind.  She  drew  her  chair  a 
little  closer  to  the  open  fire  in  the  grate.  She  felt 
strangely  cold  and  nervous  in  her  new  environ- 
ment, in  spite  of  the  cheery  blaze.  She  glanced 
at  her  husband  who  sat  with  his  head  buried  in  his 
newspaper,  and  wondered  how  he  could  be  so  con- 
tented. Her  gaze  wandered  from  him  to  the 
high,  gorgeously  decorated  walls  and  ceiling, 
across  the  broad  stretch  of  velvet  carpet,  the 
massive  folding  doors,  the  rich  furnishings,  and 
she  could  not  repress  the  sigh  that  came  to  her 
lips.  The  grandeur  and  loneliness  of  it  all,  with- 
out "  Tildy  "  to  comfort  and  help  her  bear  it! 

"  Ario,"  she  said  at  last,  feeling  that  she  must 
break  the  intolerable  silence,  "it  just  seems  like 
it  couldn't  be!" 

[14] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Like  what  couldn't  be?"  inquired  Mr. 
Dolliver,  complacently,  as  he  tilted  the  end  of 
his  nose  and  the  rims  of  his  gold  spectacles 
slightly  above  his  paper. 

"  Why,  Tildy's  being  away  like  this.  I  don't 
see  how  I  'm  ever  going  to  stand  it  four  years ! " 

"There,  there,  there,  Emmy,"  returned  Mr. 
Dolliver,  in  a  tone  meant  to  be  soothing.  "  It 's 
just  because  you  ain't  used  to  it.  When  Matildy 
comes  home  at  week's-end,  and  you  find  how 
pleased  she  is  with  it  all,  she  '11  liven  you  up,  I 
reckon ;  she  '11  make  you  feel  all  right  about  it." 

Mr.  Dolliver  himself  was  of  a  placid,  rather 
easy-going  temperament,  undisturbed  by  such 
trifling  things  as  the  vagaries  of  the  weather  or 
the  feminine  mind.  He  never  troubled  himself 
with  any  of  the  lesser  anxieties  of  life.  The  rise 
and  fall  of  the  stock-market  were  of  far  more 
import  to  him  than  the  constant  fluctuations  of 
the  barometer. 

'  You  know  she  wanted  it  herself,  more  'n  any- 
body," he  went  on,  serenely,  for  to  do  him  justice, 
Ario  Dolliver  was  always  ready  to  stop  and  dis- 

[15] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

cuss  any  topic  with  his  "Emmy"  —  tolerantly, 
sometimes,  perhaps,  but  never  impatiently. 

"  She  's  that  ambitious,  is  Tildy !  —  proud  as 
Lucifer  himself.  There  she 's  just  like  her  father. 
Mark  what  I  say,  Mrs.  D.,  we  '11  be  proud  of  that 
girl  some  day."  Ario's  round,  chubby  face 
beamed  all  over  with  satisfaction  as  he  voiced 
these  sentiments. 

"  I  'm  pleased  with  her  as  she  is,"  meekly 
averred  Mrs.  Dolliver,  who  could  see  naught 
but  perfection  in  her  only  child. 

"  To  be  sure  we  are,"  complied  Mr.  Dolliver. 
"But  that's  not  enough.  A  handsome  young- 
ster like  Matildy  's  got  to  grow  up  an  ornament 
to  society.  To  do  that,  she 's  got  to  be  properly 
edjicated,  and  I  reckon  I  Ve  hit  on  the  best  way 
of  doing  it,  sending  her  to  that  Pettingill 
Seminary.  Fashionable  school  that,  I'm  told. 
You  must  try  and  get  over  those  sentimental 
notions  about  keeping  her  tied  to  your  apron- 
strings  till  she's  a  woman.  This  here  old- 
fashioned  idea  of  "tooting"  girls  at  home  don't 
amount  to  shucks  in  these  days  of  learnin'  and 

[16] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

progress.  She's  got  to  gradgiate  in  some  fine 
institootion  like  the  Pettingill.  Only  real  swells 
go  there."  Mr.  Dolliver  smoothed  his  waistcoat 
over  his  capacious  paunch  with  a  satisfied 
air;  already  he  basked  in  the  reflected  glory 
of  the  Misses  Pettingills'  eminently  respectable 
establishment. 

"How  much  is  it  a  year?"  he  pondered  with 
placid  zest.  "Let  me  think:  twelve  —  thirteen 
hundred,  without  music. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  for  Tildy.  If  she's 
ambitious  to  be  a  fine  lady,  like  those  she  's  with, 
I  '11  not  be  the  one  to  hold  her  back  —  not  me ! 
Millions  talk  these  days,  Mrs.  D.,  and  why 
shouldn't  Tildy  hold  her  own  beside  the  very 
best?  I  can  afford  it;  and  I  '11  allow  that  she  '11 
be  a  dashing  young  heiress,  some  day." 

Mrs.  Dolliver  gazed  at  her  husband  with  a 
kind  of  awe  and  stupefaction.  She  always  grew 
silent  when  he  began  on  his  "highty,  flighty" 
projects,  as  she  called  them.  His  ambition 
always  soared  to  planes  she  could  never  hope 
to  reach,  and  they  frightened  her  more  quiet 

[17] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

and  humble  nature  into  whose  narrow  circle  the 
possibilities  of  his  millions  could  not  penetrate. 
He  had  been  successful  in  business  from  his 
boyhood  up.  Money-making  had  become  with 
him  an  absorbing  passion,  without  disturbing  in 
the  least  his  devotion  to  his  wife  and  daughter, 
or  his  love  for  his  home  and  its  cheerful  comforts. 
He  had  begun  by  trundling  a  basket  of  small 
wares  from  door  to  door  in  the  country  town  in 
which  he  lived.  At  twenty-one  he  opened  a 
humble  but  prosperous  small  general  store  where 
he  had  collected  a  most  ingenious  assortment  of 
commodities  for  the  benefit  of  his  customers; 
everything  imaginable,  from  a  hat-pin  to  a 
feather-bed. 

:  With  the  aid  of  his  young  wife,  "Emmy,"  a 
mild,  sweet-natured  girl  who  early  recognized 
his  ability  and  worshipped  all  his  decrees  as 
though  voiced  by  an  oracle,  they  rapidly  estab- 
lished a  flourishing  trade.  His  shrewdness  and 
success  became  proverbial.  "  As  lucky  as  young 
Dolliver"  was  a  simile  pregnant  with  meaning 
in  the  small  town. 

[18] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

But  the  strongest  and  most  striking  factor  in 
his  prosperity  was  his  unflinching  integrity. 
People  said  that  he  "  made  money  hand  over 
fist,"  but  every  dollar  of  it  was  as  "  clean  as  a 
whistle." 

Thus  he  grew  to  be  an  influential  man,  a 
power  in  the  municipal  affairs  of  his  native 
place.  There  were  many  jealous  ones  who 
turned  to  ridicule  his  "  vulgar  success,"  and  who 
condemned  his  bombastic  manner  of  dictating; 
but  no  one  ever  questioned  his  equity  or  his 
perfect  fairness  and  justice  in  all  his  dealings. 
In  time  this  trait  won  for  him  the  respect  of 
the  entire  community,  as  well  as  the  loyalty  and 
regard  of  his  employees.  Anyway,  Success 
always  commands  respect,  just  as  it  gives  one 
the  right  to  be  dictatorial. 

When  Mr.  Dolliver's  interests  were  finally 
removed  to  Baltimore,  it  was  his  company  of 
clerks  and  assistants  who,  wishing  to  show  their 
appreciation  of  his  many  sterling  qualities,  held 
a  prolonged  session  during  which  they  drew 
up  endless  resolutions  attesting  Mr.  Dolliver's 

[19] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

many  virtues,  particularly  that  of  turning  every- 
thing he  touched  into  money,  finally  resolving  to 
appropriate  a  suitable  sum  out  of  the  employees' 
common  fund  to  present  him  and  the  worthy 
"  Emmy  "  with  a  magnificent  parlor  suite  of  bril- 
liant red  plush.  Fortunately,  Mr.  Dolliver's 
artistic  taste  was  on  a  level  with  that  of  his  clerks 
and  drivers,  and  the  gratitude  with  which  he  re- 
ceived the  gift  was  boundless;  the  speech  he 
made  in  response  was  memorable,  and  did  him 
credit. 

It  must  not  be  lost  sight  of  that  when  Mr. 
Dolliver  entered  his  home,  he  resolutely  put  all 
business  cares  behind  him.  They  were  banished, 
forgotten.  He  took  a  simple  delight,  therefore, 
whenever  he  occupied  the  largest  of  the  arm- 
chairs, in  testing  the  elasticity  of  its  spring  seat, 
his  slippered  feet  barely  touching  the  floor  as 
he  lolled  his  head  against  its  cushioned  back. 
Mr.  Dolliver  had  never  before  sat  in  a  luxurious 
chair  of  his  own.  The  furnishings  of  the  rooms 
above  his  country  store  were  plain,  haircloth 
antiquities.  One  by  one  the  apartments  that  had 

[20] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

been  used  as  a  home  for  his  wife  and  child  had 
been  appropriated  for  storerooms.  The  home 
was  literally  crowded  out.  It  had  shrunk  to 
three  apartments,  when  one  day  the  young 
heiress  to  the  Dolliver  millions  of  the  future 
touched  the  kindling  spark  to  the  smouldering 
embers  of  Mr.  Dolliver's  pride,  and  he  was 
induced  to  seek  a  domicile  commensurate  with 
his  rising  fortunes.  It  will  thus  be  under- 
stood that  Mr.  Dolliver  had  outgrown  his 
surroundings. 

"  It 's  a  shame,  mother,  for  us  to  be  living  in 
this  way,"  Matilda  had  expostulated,  with  the 
raw  warmth  of  youth.  "The  Hackerstown 
Savings  Bank  is  building  additions  to  its  safety 
vaults.  I  know  it  is  just  to  make  room  for 
father's  money.  Why  are  n't  we  living  in  a 
house  like  decent  people?" 

'  You  know  your  pa  won't  build  a  house  in 
this  small  town."  There  was  a  plaintive  note 
in  her  voice,  a  wistful  light  in  her  eyes  that  had 
grown  with  her  husband's  wealth.  "  His  mind 's 
made  up  to  live  in  the  city  as  soon  as  you're 

[31] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

old  enough  to  go  to  one  of  the  schools  there. 
His  heart's  set  on  that,  though  I  know  it'll 
most  kill  me  to  let  you  go  away  from  home. 
But,  Matilda,  if  you're  not  satisfied,  why  don't 
you  speak  to  your  pa?" 

"  I  '11  do  it  to-morrow,"  said  Matilda,  with 
sudden  determination. 

She  was  a  bright-eyed  girl  of  fifteen,  with  a 
keen,  handsome  face  that  gave  promise  of 
striking  beauty  with  the  gradual  development  of 
young  womanhood.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed. 
Her  mother's  suggestion  seemed  to  have  kindled 
her  long-cherished  hopes  to  be  allowed  to  go 
to  a  "seminary."  She  knew  of  girls  who  had 
been  to  these  remarkable  institutions,  who 
returned  to  their  homes  greatly  improved,  "  per- 
fect ladies"  in  fact,  and  invariably  made  splen- 
did matches  with  city  gentlemen.  She  hated  to 
be  called  a  "country  girl."  She  did  not  want 
to  marry  a  country  storekeeper,  as  her  mother 
had  done,  and  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  in 
Hackerstown. 

She  stood  facing  her  mother,  with  chest  heav- 
[22] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

ing,  her  whole  body  quivering  with  alertness 
and  desire  to  leap,  like  a  youthful  Diana,  far, 
far  away,  to  scenes  unknown,  lured  thither 
because  of  their  mystery.  She  was  a  picture  as 
she  stood  there  beside  the  wan,  frail  mother,  her 
eyes  aglow,  her  every  nerve  vibrant  at  the 
thought  of  going  soon  to  one  of  those  city 
schools  where  young  girls,  by  some  process 
incomprehensible  to  her,  were  transformed  into 
women  of  the  world.  For  Matilda  Dolliver 
was,  as  her  father  had  said,  ambitious,  and  her 
aspirations  were  quite  beyond  her  years.  The 
gentle  Mrs.  Dolliver  gazed  at  her  daughter 
admiringly,  a  slight  moisture  coming  into  her 
eyes. 

"Why,  mother,  you're  crying!  What's  the 
matter?"  Quickly  she  turned,  gentle  and  ten- 
der, and  bent  over  her  mother  with  genuine 
solicitude. 

"Is  it  what  I  said  about  being  cooped  up  in 
these  rooms?" 

"No,  Tildy;  it's  nothing  you've  said  or  done; 
it's  just  thinking  we've  got  to  go  to  Baltimore, 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

sooner  or  later.  Your  pa  says  this  place  ain't 
big  enough  to  hold  him  or  his  interests;  that 
great,  big  city,  it  seems  like  we'd  be  lost  in  it. 
If  it  was  n't  for  doing  what  your  pa  thinks 
best,  I  'd  be  content  to  stay  here  in  Hackerstown 
all  my  days." 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  said  the  girl,  reproachfully. 
'You  don't  really  mean  that?" 

The  look  of  disappointment  in  Matilda's  eyes 
caused  Mrs.  Dolliver  to  say  hastily: 

"  No,  no,  Tildy,  I  don't.  I  '11  go,  and  willing, 
as  soon  as  ever  your  pa  is  ready.  I  '11  try  and 
not  think  of  myself.  I  suppose  I  'm  nothing  but 
a  selfish  old  woman  to  feel  as  I  do  about  it. 
But  for  mercy's  sake,  child,  don't  look  so!" 

For  Matilda  possessed  not  only  ambition,  but 
also  those  essential  qualifications  to  success, 
patience  —  inherited,  perhaps,  from  her  long- 
suffering  mother  —  and  the  dogged  persistence 
of  Ario  Dolliver,  who  never  allowed  such 
obstacles  as  time  or  personal  discomforts  to 
thwart  him  in  his  chosen  projects. 

Matilda  had  already  had  her  trials  and 
[24] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

humiliations  resulting  from  the  anomalous  con- 
ditions in  which  she  lived.  She  had  borne  them 
silently  and  stubbornly;  but  these  early  experi- 
ences were  later  to  serve  her  and  fortify  her  for 
the  various  conflicts  she  was  to  meet  in  her 
eagerly  anticipated  school  life. 

The  time  which  Mrs.  Dolliver  dreaded  was 
come.  Matilda  had  gone  to  the  Pettingill 
School,  a  fashionable  and  altogether  worthy 
institution,  frequented  by  the  rich  and  poor 
alike  so  long  as  one  had  any  claim  to  aristocracy 
whatsoever.  Mr.  Dolliver  had  met  with  some 
difficulty  in  entering  his  daughter.  He  actually 
did  prove  that  one  of  his  ancestors  had  fought, 
bled,  and  received  honors  in  the  Revolutionary 
War.  But  the  genealogical  line  had  been  so 
dispersed  that  it  was  hard  to  recognize  this 
fragment  as  belonging  to  the  ancient  tree. 
However,  the  thing  had-  been  effected,  as  were 
most  of  Mr.  Dolliver's  plans. 

The  week  had  been  a  dismal  one.  Combined 
with  the  inclement  weather  and  the  loneliness 
of  her  strange,  new  domicile,  Mrs.  Dolliver  to- 

[25] 


day  felt  the  separation  more  keenly  than  she  had 
at  any  former  time  in  the  past  two  weeks  of  her 
residence  in  the  house  of  grandeur.  She  gazed 
at  her  husband,  as  she  always  did  when  he  ex- 
pounded his  wisdom  to  convince  her,  and  thought 
of  what  a  wonderful  man  he  had  come  to  be,  and 
how  little  she  had  dreamed  that  the  plain  but 
determined  youth  who  had  asked  her  to  share 
his  modest  fortunes  would  one  day  be  the  owner 
of  millions,  and  a  powerful  figure  in  the  com- 
mercial world!  It  appalled  her  to  think  of  it. 
The  higher  he  rose  the  more  humble  and  alone 
she  felt.  Unlike  other  wives  in  her  condition  she 
shrank  more  and  more  from  keeping  pace  in  the 
brilliant  evolution  through  which  her  husband 
and  her  daughter  were  being  so  willingly  and 
irresistibly  propelled. 

Mr.  Dolliver  could  not  quite  fathom  the  depth 
of  her  gentler  nature.  He  interpreted  her  mild- 
eyed  look  of  trust  into  serene  acquiescence,  which 
was  eminently  satisfactory. 

In  his  young  daughter,  however,  he  sought 
and  met  all  the  responsive  chords  attuned  to  the 

[26] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

highest  goal  of  his  ambition.  She  was  the  one 
force  outside  himself  that  spurred  him  ever 
onward  in  his  fearless  and  boundless  career. 

"  There 's  something  mighty  handy  about  a 
good  edjication,"  chuckled  Mr.  Dolliver,  with 
evident  contentment.  "That's  something  you 
and  I  didn't  get  when  we  was  young, 
Emmy  — eh?" 

"  It  *s  not  kept  you  from  succeeding  in 
everything  you've  turned  your  hand  to,  Ario," 
remarked  Mrs.  Dolliver,  pride  shining  in  her 
eyes.  "You've  always  been  smart  enough  to 
please  me,"  and  she  continued  to  gaze  at  him 
fondly. 

"Well,  'twas  mere  luck  that  brought  you  my 
way,  Emmy  dear,"  returned  Mr.  Dolliver,  gal- 
lantly. "You  and  I've  pulled  together  mighty 
snug  these — lemme  see,  how  many  years  is  it 
since?  —  well,  it's  no  matter;  you're  just  as 
young  to  me  now  as  you  ever  was,  Emmy.  But 
with  Matildy  it 's  altogether  different :  she  wants 
improvement.  She's  a  great  chit,  is  Matildy!" 

Mr.  Dolliver  might  have  gone  on  indefinitely 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

in  his  expansive  mood  had  not  a  sudden  ring 
at  the  door  bell  interrupted  him,  and  caused  him 
to  bounce  from  his  easy-chair  with  corresponding 
alacrity. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  thought  Mrs.  Dolliver, 
dreading  the  possibility  of  having  to  receive  any 
of  her  Hackerstown  associates  in  these  unaccus- 
tomed and  strange  surroundings. 

"  It 's  the  postman,"  said  Mr.  Dolliver,  return- 
ing with  a  look  of  immense  gratification.  "He's 
brought  a  letter  from  Tildy.  That's  something 
to  hearten  you  up,  Emmy." 

Mrs.  Dolliver  clutched  the  letter  and  hurried 
to  the  nearest  window  to  gaze  for  the  first  time 
at  the  unformed  handwriting  of  their  daughter, 
upon  a  letter  addressed  to  them.  "  It 's  most 
too  dark  to  see,  Ario,"  said  Mrs.  Dolliver,  trying 
with  nervous  hand  to  adjust  her  spectacles. 

"Well,  there  goes  Amanda's  tea  bell.  Let's 
read  it  at  table,"  said  her  husband,  taking  the 
letter.  "  It  '11  seem  more  like  she 's  eating  with 
us."  At  that  moment  the  two  heavy  folding 

[28] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

doors  were  parted,  and  their  faithful  maid  of 
all  work,  Amanda,  beckoned  them  in. 

"Well,  I  reckon  weVe  got  light  enough  to 
see  here,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dolliver,  in  a  roar  of 
laughter.  "If  Mandy  hasn't  gone  and  lit  up 
the  whole  chandelier!  Whew!  feels  like  I  was 
setting  down  in  one  of  them  big  New  York 
hotels.  There,  set  up  right  close  to  me,  Emmy; 
you  might  be  lonesome  off  so  far.  I  ain't  quite 
got  used  to  sech  a  big  table  for  jest  us  two."  He 
was  doing  his  best  to  live  up  to  his  newly  acquired 
magnificence  without  showing  embarrassment. 

"  Read  Tildy's  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Dolliver,  still 
holding  to  one  corner  of  the  envelope. 

"A  letter!"  cried  Amanda,  leaning  familiarly 
over  her  master's  chair.  "My  sakes!  What 
stylish  letter  paper!  It's  just  like  Tildy  to 
catch  on  to  any  new  kink !  " 

Mr.  Dolliver  paused  a  moment  to  admire  the 
fanciful  monogram  adorning  the  top  of  the  first 
sheet.  "  I  rather  like  that  way  of  stamping  a 
lady's  note  paper,  don't  you,  Emmy?  It's  like 

[29] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

putting  fine  headings  to  your  business  sheets; 
it  advertises  your  quality!" 

"It  looks  very  well,"  assented  the  gentle 
Emmy,  casting  eager  glances  at  the  scraggling 
words  that  told  of  her  Tildy's  feelings  after  two 
weeks'  separation. 

Mr.  Dolliver  began  to  read  the  letter  aloud 
with  some  difficulty,  pausing  for  breath  after 
his  perusal  of  the  first  page;  but  the  mother's 
anxiety  had  already  absorbed  its  import,  and 
she  sat  quivering  with  impatience  for  him  to 
turn  the  sheet. 

"I  reckon  she  ain't  finding  it  all  so  gay  and 
fine  as  she  thought.  Everything's  new  and 
strange  to  her  there.  I  expect,  mebbe,  she's  a 
little  mite  homesick." 

"Homesick!"  repeated  Mrs.  Dolliver,  with 
moist  eyes.  "  Oh,  dear  me,  dear  me,  I  wish  she 
didn't  have  to  do  it!"  And  a  strange  feeling  in 
her  throat  made  her  cover  her  face  with  her 
napkin. 

"  Tut,  tut,  she  '11  get  all  over  that  after  a 
while.  She'll  come  home  in  a  week  or  two  so 
proud  and  happy  you  won't  know  her  by  her 

[30] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

distangy  manners.  Gosh!  I  wouldn't  feel  so 
bad,  ma;  you  know  she  was  the  one  that  wanted 
it  the  most,"  argued  Mr.  Dolliver,  by  way  of 
consolation.  "  Now,  jest  fall  to  on  your  victuals 
while  I  see  what  else  she  says  for  herself." 

Poor  Mrs.  Dolliver,  though  Amanda  pressed 
her  with  her  most  tempting  dishes,  could  find  no 
appetite  until  she  heard  more  about  her  daughter. 

Not  so  with  Mr.  Dolliver,  however,  who  found 
the  task  of  reading  aloud  on  an  empty  stomach 
too  difficult,  and  experienced  a  singular  delight 
in  giving  out  his  daughter's  words  when  his 
mouth  was  fullest.  By  the  time  they  had  read 
Matilda's  letter,  supper  was  finished  and  Mrs. 
Dolliver  had  recovered  her  usual  spirits  at  the 
happy  news  that  Matilda  would  spend  Sunday 
with  them  at  the  following  week's  end.  Ario 
took  his  wife's  arm  and  they  returned  to  the 
spacious  drawing-room,  which  Mr.  Dolliver 
insisted  upon  calling  the  "  salon.'11 

Amanda  giggled  and  disappeared,  while  Mr. 
Dolliver  lustily  repeated  the  words:  " Le  salon, 
le  salon  —  that's  the  French  for  parlor,  so 
Matildy  says.  She 's  taking  up  the  study  of  that 

[31] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

language  at  the  Pettingill,  because  she  says 
French  is  the  proper  and  distangy  speech  of  most 
Continental  courts." 

Mrs.  Dolliver  accepted  the  dictates  of  both 
her  husband  and  her  daughter  without  question. 
Mr.  Dolliver  drew  up  his  easy-chair  nearer  the 
electric  lamp,  took  up  his  evening  paper,  pol- 
ished his  spectacles,  and  began  to  enjoy  what  he 
considered  <<_spjid  comfort."  He  was,  undoubt- 
edly, a  model  husband.  He  neither  smoked  nor 
drank,  nor  entertained  any  dangerous,  worldly 
habits.  He  had  but  one  all-engrossing  passion 
— money-making.  To  watch  its  miraculous 
multiplication  under  his  magic  touch  had  been 
sufficient  game.  He  had  no  other  hobby,  that 
one  having  been  sufficiently  absorbing  to  dis- 
courage every  other  temptation.  His  sole  recre- 
ation consisted  in  spending  one  or  two  evenings 
a  week  at  home  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  The 
rest  of  his  time  was  passed  at  his  down-town 
offices,  where  he  sat  weaving  and  sorting  the 
golden  threads  of  his  great  mercantile  problems, 
and  laying  the  plans  that  were  to  construct,  a 
few  years  hence,  his  fabulous  fortune. 

[32] 


CHAPTER  II 

MATILDA  COMES  UNDER  THE  INFLUENCE 
OF  THE   SMILE 

"  Wake!    For  the  Sun  who  scatter' d  into  flight 
The  Stars  before  him  from  the  Field  of  Night, 
Drives    Night    along    with    them    from    Heav'n, 

and  strikes 
The  Sultan's  Turret  with  a  Shaft  of  Light." 

THE  Misses  Pettingills'  school  was  situated 
far  down-town,  almost  in  the  business  sec- 
tion of  Baltimore,  in  spite  of  which  fact  it  had 
retained  its  high  prestige  and  distinguished 
clientele  from  some  of  the  most  aristocratic  and 
wealthiest  quarters  of  the  city.  It  was  a  quaint 
old  structure,  built  in  the  architecture  of  several 
generations  ago.  It  still  retained  its  broad  front- 
age of  four  tiers  of  iron-railed  verandas  rising 
above  the  Venetian  arcade  that  formed  its  main 
entrance,  and  presented  an  aspect  altogether 
striking  when  viewed  among  the  great  towering 

[33] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

buildings  that  had  long  since  crowded  it  out  of 
its  cheery  atmosphere  of  home. 

Matilda's  first  impression  of  it  was  one  of 
gloom  and  gray  shadows.  As  she  stepped 
beneath  the  cool  arcade  her  girlish  ardor  suf- 
fered its  first  shock  of  restraint.  The  life  of 
absolute  freedom  and  independence  which  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  enjoy  at  home  seemed 
suddenly  shut  out.  The  superstructure  of  green 
railings  suggested  a  mammoth  bird-cage  in  which 
many  gay-plumed  birds  were  imprisoned.  A 
tall,  ceremonious  butler,  white-gloved  and  silver- 
trayed,  admitted  them  finally  to  the  mystic  pre- 
cincts of  refinement  and  culture  for  which  the 
Pettingill  School  was  far-famed. 

Unfortunately,  Mr.  Dolliver  was  not  pre- 
pared with  visiting  cards;  but  with  characteristic 
sang-froid  he  tore  off  a  sheet  from  one  of  his 
business  note-books  and  scribbled  hastily:  "  Ario 
Emerson  Dolliver,  and  daughter,"  after  which 
they  were  ushered  into  the  vast  drawing-room 
where  the  Misses  Pettingill  received  their  new 
pupils. 

[34] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Mr.  Dolliver  pompously  sat  down  in  the  most 
conspicuous  chair  and  began  to  scrutinize  his 
dignified  surroundings.  There  were  long  rows 
of  books  enclosed  in  tall  glass  cases,  a  few  pieces 
of  strictly  classic  statuary  and  several  remark- 
able pictures  upon  the  sedate  walls. 

"  Well,  how  d'  you  think  you  're  going  to  like 
it  here,  Tildy?"  he  asked,  assuming  an  air  of 
ease,  but  anxiously  searching  her  countenance. 
He  was  manifestly  impressed,  testimony  that  the 
Misses  Pettingill  had  not  vainly  created  this 
chaste,  scholastic  atmosphere. 

"Oh,  I'll  like  it  all  right,"  said  Matilda, 
calmly  determined  to  let  nothing  sway  her  from 
her  chosen  purpose. 

'  'Cause,  you  know,"  her  father  went  on,  "  if 
you  don't  like  it  here  you  can  go  somewheres 
else.  I  can  afford  to  put  you  in  any  school  you 
like." 

"We've  already  selected  this  one,  father," 
said  the  girl,  "  and  I  'm  satisfied." 

"That  settles  it,  then!"  and  Mr.  Dolliver, 
already  feeling  upon  intimate  terms  with 

[35] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Minerva,  began  to  strut  about  the  room,  giving 
vent  to  a  low  whispering  whistle,  which  was  his 
habit,  examining  the  various  pieces  of  statuary 
with  a  mild  degree  of  amazement  that  such 
damaged  objects  could  bear  any  value,  artistic 
or  otherwise  —  notably  the  Flying  Victory  of 
Samothrace.  He  was  on  the  point  of  express- 
ing himself  warmly  on  the  subject  of  classic  art, 
when  the  door  opened  and  two  ladies  entered. 

"Mr.  Dolliver,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two, 
/after  a  momentary  inspection  of  the  callers,  "  I 
am  most  gratified  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
I  am  Miss  Pettingill." 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  this  fact.  She 
carried  herself  with  an  oppressive  air  of  dignity 
that  proclaimed  her  assurance  in  every  move- 
ment. Her  countenance  was  austere,  and  she 
was  tall  and  very  thin. 

"Miss  Pettingill,  ma'am,"  Mr.  Dolliver  sa- 
luted, with  a  low  bow,  "I'm  proud  to  know 
you!  This  is  my  daughter,  Tildy,  that  I've 
come  to  place  under  your  tootership." 

[36] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  austere  countenance  turned  slowly  to- 
ward the  girl. 

"Matilda,  am  I  right  in  presuming?"  inquired 
the  elder  Miss  Pettingill  in  a  precise  tone  which 
marked  the  correction  and  at  the  same  time 
reproved  Mr.  Dolliver's  careless  speech. 

"My  name  is  Matilda,"  the  girl  shyly 
admitted.  But  her  attention  was  far  more  taken 
by  the  other  lady,  who  as  yet  had  not  spoken, 
but  stood  gracefully  at  ease  during  the  intro- 
duction and  greetings,  surveying  Matilda  with 
a  kind,  smiling  regard  and  now  and  then 
glancing  at  the  father.  She  was  so  quiet  and 
self-possessed  and  sympathetic  that  the  girl 
unconsciously  responded  to  the  appeal  of  her 
personality. 

Noting  the  transfer  of  her  visitors'  interest, 
Miss  Pettingill  perforce  presented  her. 

"  Miss  Doyle,  who  is  kind  enough  to  assist 
me  to-day,  my  sister  feeling  quite  too  ill  to 
pursue  her  customary  duties." 

There  was  an  inarticulate  murmur  of  solici- 
tude from  Mr.  Dolliver,  which  wras  faintly 

[37] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

echoed  by  Matilda;  then  he  made  a  profound 
obeisance  to  Miss  Doyle. 

She  was  a  young  woman  of  singularly  fine 
and  wax-like  appearance,  evidently  not  far 
removed  in  years  from  Matilda's  age.  She 
was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  which  costume 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  youthfulness  of 
her  face  and  the  obvious  seriousness  of  her  duties 
as  locum  tenens.  She  took  Matilda's  hand,  and 
the  younger  girl's  heart  went  out  to  the  repressed 
warmth  of  the  act  and  the  smile  that  still  played 
upon  her  lips  and  sparkled  in  her  eyes.  So,  also, 
did  Mr.  Dolliver  respond  to  the  unspoken 
sympathy  of  this  beautiful  girl.  His  look  was 
continually  reverting  in  the  direction  of  the 
young  assistant,  even  as  he  carried  on  the  neces- 
sary conversation  with  the  elder  Miss  Pettingill. 

"  I  take  it,  Miss  Pettingill,  ma'am,  you've  got 
the  right  sort  of  accommodations  for  these 
young  things  to  romp  and  gambol  out-of-doors. 
You  see,  Tildy  's  been  brought  up  in  the  coun- 
try. She 's  used  to  sunshine  and  plenty  of  fresh 
air,"  he  was  saying,  rather  doubting  his  assump- 

[38] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tion  of  the  fact  from  Miss  Pettingill's  somewhat 
dark  and  sallow  complexion  and  the  extreme 
pallor  of  Miss  Doyle's. 

"Mr.  Dolliver,  my  dear  sir,"  —  the  elevated 
brows  now  implied  resentment  —  "we  have  ample 
facilities  for  out-of-door  exercise  and  recreation. 
Miss  Doyle,"  turning  to  the  young  woman, 
"  kindly  conduct  Mr.  Dolliver  and  Miss  Matilda 
through  Juno's  Court  that  they  may  judge  for 
themselves.  It  is  near  the  recess  hour  and  in  a 
minute  or  two  the  young  ladies  will  all  be  out 
promenading." 

But  the  prospect  of  meeting  a  bevy  of  fash- 
ionable young  ladies  promenading  quenched  Mr. 
Dolliver's  desire  for  investigation. 

"  Not  at  all  necessary,  ma'am,  I  '11  take  your 
word  for  it.  But  me  and  my  wife  was  jest 
discussin'  these  various  points  of  sanitation.  In 
these  days  of  learnin'  and  progress  everything 
must  be  at  the  top-notch  of  perfection,  ma'am." 

"Let  me  assure  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Dolliver, 
that  our  establishment  is  fully  equipped  with  all 
the  appliances  and  conditions  necessary  to  the 

[39] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

health  and  welfare  of  our  young  ladies,"  and 
Miss  Pettingill's  neck  and  nose  attained  such  a 
point  of  elevation  that  Mr.  Dolliver  hastily 
replied : 

"'Nuff  said,  Miss  Pettingill,  ma'am  —  'miff 
said.  We  was  sure  we'd  made  no  mistake  in 
sending  our  Tildy  to  your  worthy  institootion." 
With  which  gallant  speech  he  prepared  to  take 
leave  of  his  daughter. 

Matilda  showed  no  undue  emotion  at  parting 
with  her  father.  She  seemed  quite  contented  to 
be  placed  under  the  protection  of  the  smiling 
young  woman,  never  having  questioned  or 
doubted  in  her  own  mind  the  success  of  her 
school  life.  When,  therefore,  Mr.  Dolliver  left 
Pettingill  Seminary  that  morning  it  was  with 
that  sense  of  security  and  satisfaction  which  he 
liked  to  meet  in  all  his  transactions. 

As  he  galloped  away  in  his  hired  carriage,  he 
was  blissfully  unconscious  of  the  eyes  that  peered 
at  him  from  behind  the  green  railings  up  stairs, 
or  of  the  agitation  and  number  of  unflattering 
remarks  that  followed  his  modest  exodus.  For, 

[40] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

quite  contrary  to  the  elder  Miss  Pettingill's  sur- 
mise that  all  the  young  ladies  were  recreating  in 
Juno's  Court,  —  spacious  behind  those  quad- 
rangular walls,  —  many  of  them  had  rushed  to 
their  rooms  to  peer  out  at  the  father  of  the  new- 
comer. His  fame  had  evidently  preceded  him. 
It  was  known  that  he  was  immensely  rich.  They 
saw  the  Dolliver  wagons  passing  through  their 
quiet  street  every  day.  For  he  had  now  risen 
to  the  dignity  of  a  manufacturer  of  daily  com- 
modities, and  was  widely  known  by  the  com- 
mercial world  of  Baltimore. 

Judgments  about  him  ran  high  in  the  scale 
of  exaggeration  and  were,  of  course,  diversified. 
The  young  ladies  of  Pettingill  Seminary  could 
form  no  opinion  from  the  glimpse  they  had 
caught  of  him  as  he  rode  away  in  his  cab.  They 
were  consumed  with  curiosity  to  see  his  daugh- 
ter. But  the  fact  that  in  his  earlier  career  he 
had  been  a  "  penny  grocer,"  went  far  to  preju- 
dice them  against  her. 

As  Matilda  passed  out  of  the  drawing-room 
under  Miss  Doyle's  chaperonage,  Miss  Pet- 

[41] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tingill  shot  a  significant  glance  at  the  young 
assistant,  a  look  freighted  with  meaning  and 
which  Helene  Doyle  understood  and  acknowl- 
edged with  her  usual  enigmatical  smile.  Miss 
Pettingill  remained  seated,  apparently  lost  in 
meditation  as  she  watched  the  two  young  women 
pass  out  of  her  sight.  She  wondered  if  she  had 
done  right  to  admit  this  young  person  of  low 
degree  into  her  flock  of  high-bred  girls.  She 
shuddered  at  the  recollection  that  Mr.  Dolliver, 
in  his  brief  conversation,  had  twice  used  the 
expression  "we  was."  She  hoped  Miss  Doyle 
had  noticed  it,  and  taken  due  account  of  the 
enormity  of  her  task ;  for  she  had  been  previously 
informed  that  Matilda  Dolliver  would  be  her 
especial  care.  It  would  be  her  pleasant  task  to 
correct,  refine,  civilize,  and  instruct  the  uncouth 
damsel  in  all  the  polished  ways  and  usages  of 
good  society. 

Helene  Doyle  was  certainly  fitted  for  the 
task,  having  herself  been  born  and  reared  under 
the  highly  cultured  influences  of  the  Pettingill 
School.  This  young  woman  might  have  rebelled 

[42] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

at  the  ignominious  duties  sometimes  imposed 
upon  her,  if  rebellion  had  been  allowed  at  such 
a  well-regulated  academy.  But  it  was  not.  The 
Pettingill  Seminary  for  young  ladies  was  con- 
ducted in  every  respect  with  military  order  and 
precision.  Nonconformity  to  its  rules  and 
regulations  was  an  undreamed-of  contingency 
among  pupils  and  teachers.  One  would  no  more 
have  dared  to  oppose  the  elder  Miss  PettingilTs 
plan  of  action  or  decision  than  if  she  had  been 
the  commander-in-chief  of  an  army  preparing  to 
attack  a  formidable  enemy.  Her  word  was  abso- 
lute and  irrevocable.  Whatever  were  the 
reasons  for  this  coup  d'etat  in  the  harmonious 
and  unsuspecting  circle  that  constituted  her 
well-ordered  establishment  were,  therefore,  best 
known  to  herself. 

The  younger  Miss  Pettingill  who  was  in  every 
particular  the  exact  counterpart  of  her  sister, — 
only  less  aggressively  so,  —  entertained  the  secret 
opinion  that  nothing  but  the  certainty  and  munif- 
icence of  Mr.  Dolliver's  bank  checks  had  clinched 
her  sister's  final  decision. 

[43] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Miss  Pettingill,  the  elder,  sat  some  moments 
apparently  lost  in  profound  meditation.  How 
long  she  might  have  remained  thus  is  beyond  con- 
jecture, if  the  younger  Miss  Pettingill,  whose 
violent  headache  was  conquered  by  curiosity,  had 
not  come  tip-toeing  down  to  learn  the  result  of 
the  first  interview. 

"My  dear  sister,"  she  burst  forth  in  excited 
whispers,  "I  've  just  met  her  crossing  the  Court 
with  Helene  Doyle!" 

"  Miss  Doyle,"  corrected  the  elder  woman  with 
reproving  gravity;  "Miss  Doyle,  chaperon  and 
assistant  instructress  at  the  Pettingill  School,  is 
not  to  be  confounded  with  Helene  Doyle,  the 
former  pupil.  Will  you  never  learn  to  observe 
the  formalities,  sister  ?  Please  endeavor  to  bear 
in  mind  hereafter  that  it  is  Miss  Doyle." 

The  younger  Miss  Pettingill  was  properly  con- 
trite after  this  rebuke;  observing  which  the  elder 
Miss  Pettingill  inquired  with  much  condescen- 
sion: "And  what  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Rather  a  good-looking  girl  on  the  whole," 
was  the  chastened  reply.  But  seeing  at  once 

[44] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

from  her  sister's  severe  expression  that  this  was 
not  the  precise  answer  expected  or  desired,  she 
made  haste  to  add:  "  Her  eyes  and  hair  are  quite 
nice,  but  her  taste  in  dress  is  atrocious.  She  is 
awkward  and  ungainly.  Her  native  deportment 
must  be  moulded  and  chiselled  like  a  piece  of 
rough  marble." 

The  elder  Miss  Pettingill's  own  unexpressed 
opinion  being  thus  affirmed,  she  permitted  herself 
to  be  mollified. 

"  Miss  Doyle  will  effect  this  change  if  it  can  be 
done.  It  will  take  time  and  perseverance  on  her 
part.  Judging  from  the  father's  conversation, 
Matilda  Dolliver's  parents  are  extremely  or- 
dinary people."  And  the  elder  Miss  Pettingill 
whispered  a  few  of  Mr.  Dolliver's  pet  aphorisms 
in  her  sister's  ear  lest  the  air  might  again  be 
vitiated  by  their  repetition. 

"  Shocking!"  exclaimed  the  other  lady,  though 
less  perturbed  than  her  sister  by  the  discovery. 
"I  will  endeavor  to  assist  poor  Hele  —  Miss 
Doyle  in  her  herculean  task ! " 

The  look  of  approval  on  her  sister's  face  caused 
[45] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  younger  Miss  Pettingill  to  retire  promptly 
upon  her  errand  of  helpfulness.  She  joined  the 
young  women  in  Juno's  Court,  where  she  liked 
to  go  during  the  recreation  hours  and  where  she 
was  more  or  less  of  a  favorite  with  the  pupils.  A 
few  of  the  younger  enthusiasts  immediately  sur- 
rounded her,  putting  their  arms  about  her 
waist,  school-girl  fashion,  and  plying  her  with 
eager  questions  about  the  new  arrival. 

"  Oh,  dear  Miss  '  Pett,'  do  tell  us  all  about  her. 
Has  she  really  come  to  stay?" 

"Most  certainly!  And  why  not,  my  dears? 
Isn't  Pettingill  Seminary  capable  of  transform- 
ing any  diamond  in  the  rough,  even  as  rough  a 
diamond  as  Matilda  Dolliver?  For  I  will  tell 
you  something  in  strict  confidence,  something  not 
to  be  repeated,  mark  you!"  —  and  the  injudi- 
cious Miss  Pettingill  related  to  these  artless 
young  ladies  her  sister's  stupefaction  at  Mr. 
Dolliver's  frequent  use  of  "  we  was."  Guileless 
Miss  Pettingill!  What  are  you  storing  up  for 
this,  your  latest  charge! 

"They  must  be  common  people,  of  course, 
[46] 


but  very  rich.  Money  is  a  powerful  thing  these 
days,  as  Mr.  Dolliver  himself  says.  If  Matilda 
shows  a  receptive  nature,  you  will  be  surprised  at 
the  change  in  her  after  a  short  residence  here." 

The  younger  Miss  Pettingill  was  as  unsophis- 
ticated as  the  most  innocent  of  her  young  ladies, 
but  even  her  simple  mind  realized  suddenly  that 
she  had  been  decidedly  too  free  with  her  con- 
fidences, and  she  made  haste  to  add:  "  Come,  let 
us  go  and  make  her  acquaintance.  Miss  Doyle 
will  present  us.  And  do  be  cautious  not  to  re- 
peat what  I  have  said ! "  The  young  ladies  of 
course  promised  great  secrecy,  and  went  will- 
ingly to  pay  their  respects  to  the  "  rich  Miss 
Dolliver." 

Poor  Matilda  was  a  little  abashed  by  this  per- 
emptory meeting  with  a  host  of  young  girls  so 
entirely  different  from  herself.  In  her  imagina- 
tion their  polite  curiosity  marked  hostility,  and 
she  felt  the  awkwardness  of  her  situation  and  saw 
at  a  glance  the  wide  gulf  that  separated  her  from 
them.  So  she  met  their  well-trained  advances 
coldly,  a  little  defiantly,  at  first,  feeling  conscious 

[47] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

of  her  own  inelegance.  Her  feet  were  not  so 
daintily  shod  as  theirs,  her  gown  of  not  so  fash- 
ionable a  cut.  Her  gold-brown  hair  was  parted 
with  rural  simplicity  and  hung  in  two  long  braids. 

The  group  that  surrounded  her  were  among 
"the  elect"  of  Pettingill  Seminary;  chief  among 
which  were  the  swan-necked  Miss  Angela  At- 
wood  and  her  sister  Maud,  who  held  their  heads 
above  most  of  the  other  pupils,  and  assumed  the 
air  of  injured  queens  when  required  to  perform 
any  act  of  common  civility.  They  touched  Ma- 
tilda's hand  lightly  with  their  slender  finger-tips, 
expressing  some  trite  sentiment  of  welcome, 
which  rang  insincere.  Miss  Dolliver  was  quick 
to  resent  the  scorn  that  accompanied  their  greet- 
ing. Young  and  inferior  as  she  was,  her  pride 
was  sufficiently  sensitive  to  be  angered  more  than 
cowed  by  their  condescension.  Her  only  reply 
was  a  flash  from  her  dark  eyes  and  a  "  Thank 
you,"  that  admitted  of  no  further  intercourse 
between  them. 

Miss  Helene  Doyle,  who  was  curiously  study- 
ing her  new  charge,  was  rather  pleased  to  see  her 

[48] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

display  so  much  spirit.  Those  Atwood  girls  were 
insufferable;  they  posed  as  social  leaders  in  the 
school,  ruling  and  imposing  upon  their  friends 
with  fine  superiority.  Helene  Doyle  knew  their 
influence  and  tried  to  turn  the  tide  of  their  unfa- 
vorable impression  by  drawing  Edith  Hadley  into 
the  group.  The  fair  Edith  was  a  great  favorite 
among  her  mates  owing  to  her  amiable  disposition 
and  attractive  personality.  She  would  act  as  a 
counterpoise  to  the  Atwood  disdain.  Her  hearty 
grasp  of  the  hand  won  Matilda  immediately  and 
the  latter  began  to  recover  her  natural  self- 
possession,  after  the  sudden  plunge  into  this 
totally  new  sphere  of  existence. 

'  You  are  going  to  take  up  all  the  arts,  I  sup- 
pose, along  with  the  regular  studies,  drawing, 
dancing,  music,  singing!"  —  and  Edith  uttered 
the  last  word  with  rapturous  longing. 

"  I  have  everything  to  learn,"  said  Matilda 
humbly. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  music?  I  love  it,  especial!}7 
singing.  I'm  wild  to  go  to  Europe  and  study 
with  the  great  masters ! " 

[49] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

'  You  must  have  a  voice,"  suggested  Matilda. 

"  Oh,  the  girls  here  say  I  sing  well  enough,  but 
I  should  like  to  do  something  larger." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  have  any  talent,  but 
my  father  wants  me  to  take  the  whole  course." 

"Isn't  that  splendid!"  exclaimed  Edith, 
devoutly  wishing  she  had  a  father  who  could  sat- 
isfy her  every  wish.  "  Have  you  a  preference  for 
any  special  study?" 

"  I  want  very  much  to  learn  to  speak  French," 
the  novice  timidly  offered. 

"  Oh,  that 's  good !  We  all  prefer  it  to  German. 
It  is  such  a  bright,  racy  language.  Miss  Doyle 
teaches  it  and  speaks  it  perfectly.  You  will  find 
it  so  useful  when  you  travel  abroad." 

Matilda  laughed  a  little  at  the  prospect. 
"  That  seems  very  far  away,"  she  added.  "  I 
have  so  much  to  do  in  the  four  years  before  me." 

Miss  Doyle  joined  them  at  this  point,  and  the 
three  went  off  to  finish  their  promenade  together. 

"  Now,  that 's  the  way  I  like  to  hear  a  girl  talk," 
said  one  of  the  young  ladies  left  standing  with 

[50] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  younger  Miss  Pettingill.  "  She 's  not  so  bad, 
and  she  seems  to  have  lots  of  good  sense." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  so?"  returned  Miss  Pettin- 
gill, glad  of  this  opportunity  to  retract. 

"  She 's  going  to  come  out  all  right,"  said  an- 
other. "I  think  she'll  be  quite  handsome  when 
she  puts  on  some  good-looking  clothes,"  with 
which  promising  predictions  the  young  ladies  all 
went  in  at  the  sound  of  the  gong. 

Thus  entered  Matilda  into  that  select  fold  of 
virgins  presided  over  by  the  Misses  Pettingill. 


[51] 


CHAPTER  III 

HELENE  DOYLE  AND  HER  ENTOURAGE 

"  I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  Rose  as  were  some  buried  Caesar  bled; 

That  every  Hyacinth  the  Garden  wears 
Dropt  in  its  Lap  from  some  once  lovely  Head." 

THE  tall,  exquisitely  moulded  young  woman 
who  had  been  chosen  to  chaperon  and 
practically  take  charge  of  Matilda  Dolliver's 
mental  and  physical  advancement,  enjoyed  the 
rare  distinction  of  being  every  one's  friend  at  the 
Pettingill  School.  Furthermore,  she  was  sought, 
consulted,  and  appealed  to  by  her  entire  circle  of 
acquaintances  in  and  out  of  the  seminary.  Her 
judgment  being  always  prudent  and  discerning 
was  asked  upon  all  weighty  subjects.  She  pos- 
sessed to  an  exceptional  degree  that  well-poised 
attitude  of  high  breeding  which  places  every  one 
at  ease,  whatever  his  character  or  station.  Her 

[52] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

presence  in  any  community  diffused  calm,  re- 
pose, and  harmony  without  visible  effort  on  her 
part.  Her  quiet,  low-pitched  conversational 
voice  seemed  the  index  to  a  restful,  sympathetic 
temperament.  Those  who  met  her  in  almost 
daily  contact  held  this  opinion. 

Yet  Helene  Doyle  had  somewhere  hidden 
within  her  sentient  being,  a  warm,  impulsive, 
emotional  nature  which  she  concealed  absolutely 
under  the  mystic  smile  that  won  for  her  the  pop- 
ular name  of  the  "  Smiling  Sphinx,"  the 
"  Mona  Lisa,"  and  like  classic  epithets  from  the 
young  ladies  of  the  Pettingill  School.  Many  of 
her  intimates  marvelled  at  her  perfect  self- 
government.  That  apparently  placid  mien  which 
accepted  all  that  came  into  her  life  with  equally 
smiling  serenity;  could  it  be  inborn?  —  or  in- 
herited from  either  parent?  It  might  be  from 
the  big-hearted,  wide-souled  man  who  was  her 
father.  Every  one  in  Baltimore  remembered  the 
tall,  genial  old  man  who  had  ministered  so  faith- 
fully to  one  of  the  largest  and  poorest  congrega- 
tions in  the  city  for  upwards  of  forty  years. 

[53] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Helena's  scintillating  mental  attributes  might 
easily  be  traced  to  the  spiritual  Dr.  Doyle;  but 
the  ever-smiling  reserve,  the  passive,  undemon- 
strative element  restraining  all  attempts  at  too 
close  familiarity  surely  she  obtained  from  the 
mother. 

Mrs.  Doyle  was  still  a  young,  rather  attractive 
woman,  and  the  people  of  their  congregation  dis- 
cussed long  and  extensively  the  puzzling  fact 
that  two  persons  of  such  widely  differing  tastes 
should  have  elected  to  spend  their  lives  together. 
Singularly  enough,  the  union  of  these  polemic 
extremities  of  temperament  re-occur  constantly 
in  our  generation.  Yet  the  result  had  proved 
surprisingly  satisfactory  to  the  parties  concerned. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Doyle  was  too  high-minded  ever 
to  have  garnered  more  than  a  scant  sufficiency  for 
his  own  small  family.  His  wife,  on  the  contrary, 
was  entirely  self -engrossed  and  self -centered ; 
absorbed  in  her  own  and  her  family's  interests 
exclusively.  She  had  no  patience  with  her  hus- 
band's extravagant  ideas  of  charity,  and  kept  up 
a  perpetual  worrying  and  fretting  that  never 

[54] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

appeared  to  ruffle  the  good  Doctor's  amiable 
mood.  She  belonged  to  that  class  of  women  who, 
in  spite  of  their  weak,  petty  natures,  assume  a 
kind  of  power  and  supremacy  over  the  yielding 
members  of  their  own  household ;  but  relapse  into 
abject  humility  and  submission  in  the  presence  of 
those  keen  enough  to  pose  as  superiors. 

Early  in  her  daughter's  infancy  she  had  con- 
ceived her  education  with  a  heroic,  almost  Spar- 
tan, rigidity.  The  child's  education  was  to  be 
paramount.  Nothing  should  retard  the  march  of 
her  progress.  In  spite  of  the  slender  income 
Helene  must  move  onward  to  become  a  great 
scholar  like  her  father.  His  mind  was  full  of 
high  and  noble  things:  she  must  attain  his  per- 
fection, and  lose  no  time  in  the  unnecessary  prog- 
ress of  growing  up.  Mrs.  Doyle  had  inherited 
a  small  dot  from  a  French  grandmother,  but  that 
would  not  be  enough.  Little  Helene  was  per- 
petually impressed  with  the  fact  that  she  would 
have  to  be  self-sufficient.  In  order  to  fit  herself 
for  this,  she  must  enter  the  Pettingill  Academy 
at  the  earliest  stage  of  her  girlhood.  Mrs.  Doyle, 

[55] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

in  spite  of  her  many  weaknesses,  was  a  person  of 
action.  She  had  outlined  and  formed  plans  for 
her  daughter's  career  extending  from  her  birth 
to  the  age  of  twenty.  At  four  Helene  was  to  be 
taken  to  M.  Lemaire's  for  private  tutoring  in 
Greek  and  Latin ;  at  thirteen  she  was  to  enter  the 
renowned  Pettingill  School;  at  seventeen  take  a 
chair  in  some  college,  or  marry,  —  all  this,  with 
the  lightning  rapidity  of  an  expert  mathematical 
computator.  She  had  taken  the  entire  control 
and  government  of  the  child,  relieving  the  gentle 
Doctor  of  all  disciplinary  responsibility  owing  to 
his  church  duties,  which  were  manifold,  and  also 
because  she  took  a  special  maternal  joy  in  exer- 
cising her  role  of  petty  tyrant. 

Poor  little  Helene  was  not  even  suffered  to 
have  the  measles  or  any  of  the  childish  interrup- 
tions common  to  children,  in  peace  and  comfort, 
but  was  hurried  out  of  bed  several  days  sooner 
than  is  usually  customary  in  such  cases.  No 
trifling  causes  should  be  allowed  to  impede  the 
course  of  her  education.  When  she  should  leave 
Pettingill  at  seventeen  she  must  be  ready  to  begin 

[56] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

her  career  of  instructor  the  following  Autumn. 
Thus  Mrs.  Doyle's  well-laid  plans  must  work  out 
their  fruition  without  any  hateful  obstacles.  She 
would  have  her  daughter's  education,  love  affairs, 
or  professional  career  march  on  with  clock-like 
regularity  and  persistence. 

The  direct  opposite  of  her  patient,  generous 
husband,  Mrs.  Doyle  peppered  his  daily  exist- 
ence with  petty  reproaches.  She  harped  con- 
stantly on  the  inconvenience  and  aggravation  of 
being  poor.  She  found  fault  with  him  con- 
tinually for  indulging  too  freely  in  his  eccentric 
notions  of  giving  to  the  poor  of  his  parish. 

"What  is  the  use  of  pampering  such  people 
with  comforts  they've  never  been  used  to?  It 
only  cultivates  in  them  a  taste  for  ease  and  sen- 
suousness  incompatible  with  their  lives,  and 
creates  a  demand  for  more.  Their  natures  are 
not  refined  or  sensitive  like  ours.  We  suffer 
more  by  the  lack  of  certain  necessary  luxuries 
than  they  do  from  hunger  or  cold." 

"  My  dear,  you  seem  unduly  agitated  about 
something  to-day,"  said  Doctor  Doyle,  lifting 

[57] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

his  mild  eyes  upon  her.  For  he  was  in  his  private 
study  revising  an  old  sermon  to  adapt  it  to  a  more 
modern  application. 

"That  is  what  you  always  say  when  I'm 
anxious  about  something." 

"  Anxious,  my  love?  You  ought  to  be  anxious 
about  nothing.  Worry  will  fade  your  pretty 
cheeks  and  bring  lines  around  your  bright  eyes. 
Tell  me  what  troubles  you." 

She  drew  nearer,  invited  by  his  extended  hand, 
and  laid  her  other  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"You  know  Helene  must  shortly  go  to  the 
Pettingill  Seminary.  It  is  so  expensive  and  yet 
she  must  stand  on  a  level  with  her  rich  social 
friends.  The  Atwood  girls,  the  Hadleys,  all  her 
playmates  are  to  enter  in  the  Fall." 

"And  you  worry  about  the  expense?  You 
little  Martha!  Have  not  the  means  always  been 
provided?  Cease  from  troubling;  all  will  be  well 
with  my  little  daughter.  Heaven  has  prepared 
a  high  place  for  her  in  this  world  of  joys  and 
sorrows.  I  have  no  fear.  Wait  God's  good  time." 

[58] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Mrs.  Doyle  was  quieted  by  his  soothing,  al- 
ways beautiful  faith.  But  her  restless,  active 
spirit  was  only  temporarily  allayed  by  his  wise 
counsel. 

From  these  two  diametrically  opposite  minds 
the  daughter  derived  a  composite  nature,  the 
feminine  element  merging  in  singular  conformity 
the  best  characteristics  of  both  parents  into  a 
pleasing  whole. 

Helene  had  now  reached  her  nineteenth  year, 
yet  without  having  fulfilled  her  mother's  high 
ambition  of  attaining  a  scientific  or  mathematical 
chair  in  one  of  America's  leading  colleges.  True, 
unavoidable  interruptions  had  intervened.  The 
beloved  father  had  quietly  passed  out  of  their 
lives,  his  only  legacy  to  his  daughter  being  the 
great  heart  and  noble  mind  that  had  been  his  only 
motive  force  to  conquer  and  achieve  much  in  the 
great  ends  of  a  spiritual  world. 

Mrs.  Doyle  wept  his  loss  and  shrouded  herself 
in  mourning  garb.  She  tearfully  consented  to 
Helene's  taking  a  position  at  the  Pettingill 

[69] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

School  to  instruct  and  chaperon  young  ladies  but 
a  few  years  her  juniors. 

"I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  cataclysm  of  all 
my  hopes! "  she  bewailed.  "  Now  that  your  dear 
father  is  gone,  I  have  no  power  to  think,  to  act. 
You  must  take  his  place.  You  must  upbear  me 
and  comfort  me ! " 

Helene  had  already  proved  herself  the  stronger 
nature,  by  setting  aside  her  own  grief  to  alleviate 
her  mother's,  by  taking  all  the  decisive  steps  of 
their  lamentable  condition.  At  the  Pettingill 
School  she  was  welcomed  by  the  young  ladies  as 
a  superior  companion.  The  Misses  Pettingill 
[regarded  her  as  a  veritable  treasure,  but  were  too 
Napoleonic  in  their  manoeuvres  to  acknowledge 
it.  Here,  too,  she  found  entertainment  and  dis- 
traction in  the  young  life  about  her,  and  subjects 
sufficient  to  cheer  her  disconsolate  mother  when 
she  went  home. 

The  account  of  the  arrival  of  the  new  pupil  at 
Pettingill  Seminary  was  an  effective  rouser  to 
Mrs.  Doyle.  She  immediately  looked  up  and 
began  to  take  interest  in  the  things  and  people 

[60] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

that  surrounded  her.  She  questioned  her  daugh- 
ter constantly  about  Matilda,  and  made  inquiries 
about  the  family  among  the  sympathetic  friends 
who  came  to  condole  with  her.  The  chief  thing 
she  could  learn  about  the  Dollivers  was  that  they 
were  immensely  rich,  but  honest  and  worthy  peo- 
ple whose  one  object  in  life  seemed  to  be  to 
educate,  refine,  and  ennoble  their  young  daugh- 
ter. They  were  doing  everything  that  could  be 
done  for  a  child. 

"  How  extremely  interesting! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Doyle.  "If  it  were  not  for  my  mourning,  I 
would  at  once  call  upon  Mrs.  Dolliver.  I  am  sure 
we  should  find  one  bond  of  sympathy  in  common 
—  our  daughters.  And  thus  I  should  be  follow- 
ing the  wishes  of  my  beloved  husband  by  calling 
immediately  upon  new  members  of  our  church. 
Oh,  how  it  would  please  him,  now,  if  he  could 
know  I  took  more  interest  in  church  affairs !  But, 
you  understand,  during  his  lifetime  I  could  not 
neglect  my  home  duties,  nor  my  responsibilities  in 
regard  to  Helene.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  get 
the  child  ready  in  time  for  Sunday-school.  And 

[61] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

invariably  afterwards  I  would  suffer  with  one  of 
those  splitting  headaches !  Helene  and  her  father 
never  knew  what  headaches  were.  I  used  to  tell 
them  they  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  suf- 
fering. I  always  said  it  was  because  their  minds 
were  gifted  and  therefore  more  active.  Have  you 
ever  noticed  that  really  great  and  gifted  people 
never  mention  the  subject  of  headache?  Whereas, 
comparatively  brainless  people  like  you  and  me 
are  forever  complaining." 

"  There  is,  no  doubt,  a  great  deal  of  truth  in 
the  modern  idea  that  the  mind  controls  the  body 
to  a  remarkable  degree,"  said  the  unoffended 
visitor. 

"  That  is  just  what  Helene  is  always  telling 
me.  And  if  you'll  believe  me,  that  young  Dr. 
Rasburn  has  the  same  notion,  only  he  is  more 
sympathetic." 

Mrs.  Doyle  could  go  on  for  hours  expatiating 
about  her  pet  maladies  when  she  found  some  one 
willing  to  listen.  Dr.  Rasburn,  who  had  been 
called  during  Dr.  Doyle's  last  illness,  was  now 
her  daily  visitor.  She  found  endless  comfort  in 

[62] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

retailing  to  him  all  her  various  complaints,  while 
he  with  keen  professional  insight  directed  the 
conversation  to  topics  of  general  social  interest. 
He  entertained  her  so  adroitly  about  the  new- 
comers that  one  day  Mrs.  Doyle  asked  Helene  to 
bring  Matilda  Dolliver  home  with  her. 

:<We  might  make  it  an  occasion  for  asking  a 
few  others  who  have  been  so  very  kind  during  our 
trouble ;  the  Hadley  girls  and  Benedict,  of  course, 
and  Dr.  Rasburn  who  desires  to  meet  Matilda. 
He  has  told  me  so  much  that  interests  me  about 
the  family.  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
have  a  quiet  little  social  gathering  of  a  very  few 
intimates." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Helene,  welcoming  the 
slightest  evidence  of  her  mother's  returning 
spirits.  "  We  might  ask  them  for  next  Monday. 
It  will  be  the  first  week  of  vacation,  and  I  should 
think  agreeable  to  every  one.  Is  there  any  one 
else  whom  you  would  like  to  ask  ? " 

"Perhaps  the  Atwoods?" 

"No,  not  the  Atwoods,  mother,"  objected 
Helene.  "This  must  be  so  very  quiet  and 

[63] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

informal,  and  you  know  the  Atwoods  entertain 
elaborately.  Their  presence  alone  would  trans- 
form our  simple  'afternoon'  into  a  formidable 
affair." 

"Then,  why  not  ask  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dolliver? 
I  have  been  wishing  to  meet  Matilda's  mother; 
but  in  my  position,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  call. 
Perhaps  they  will  .understand." 

"  That  will  be  very  pleasant,"  Helene  ac- 
quiesced. "  They  will  stand  upon  no  ceremony. 
They  will  gladly  welcome  an  occasion  where 
Matilda  will  be  the  social  attraction." 

"It  is  very  sweet  of  you,  Helene,  to  think  of 
diverting  me  from  my  present  loneliness.  Now 
write  our  invitations,  my  daughter,"  added  Mrs. 
Doyle,  whose  inclination  was  to  be  ceremonial  in 
whatever  she  did. 

"  That  will  hardly  be  necessary,"  explained 
Helene  with  an  amused  look.  "An  invitation 
would  be  rather  too  formal  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Dolliver.  It  might  intimidate  them.  We  can 
easily  reach  every  one  by  telephone.  That  will 
savor  more  of  the  intimite  de  famille." 

[64] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Helene  had  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dolliver  several 
times  during  their  visits  at  school,  and  she  chose 
this  way  of  doing  them  a  kindness.  The  other 
friends  whom  they  asked  were  all  prepared  to 
take  the  Dollivers  at  their  face  value.  Therefore 
she  feared  no  friction  or  embarrassment  in  their 
contact  with  one  another.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dolliver 
would  have  no  cause  to  feel  their  position  of 
declasses.  Matilda  had  won  too  many  friends  in 
her  first  year's  schooling.  She  had  conquered 
almost  every  one  except  the  Atwood  girls  who 
were  too  fundamentally  snobs  to  be  touched  by 
Matilda's  rapid  development. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  last  school  term. 
The  Spring  had  swung  round  with  unusual 
vigor,  and  the  atmosphere  at  Pettingill  Sem- 
inary had  relaxed  into  a  social  warmth  char- 
acteristic of  young  women  who  have  lived, 
thought,  and  worked  side  by  side  for  the  better 
part  of  a  year. 

Among  those  drawn  into  the  circle  that  had 
accepted  Matilda  was  the  blonde  Edith,  youngest 
of  the  Hadley  sisters.  According  to  youthful 

[65] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

enthusiasm  she  had  "  raved  "  at  home  about  her 
new  friend  —  her  quiet,  unostentatious  manner, 
her  father's  wealth  and  the  royal  yet  simple  use 
she  made  of  it.  The  elder  sisters  were  naturally 
eager  to  meet  this  phenomenon.  Sophie,  who 
was  short  of  forty  and  felt  she  was  fast  border- 
ing on  "  old  maidism,"  naturally  held  skeptical 
views. 

"  How  can  she  be  such  a  paragon  of  perfection 
with  such  antecedents!  Didn't  you  say  her 
father  was  a  cheap  grocer  in  Hackerstown  and 
that  her  mother  measured  out  prunes  and  dried 
apples  by  the  half-pound?" 

"  All  the  more  credit  to  them  for  rising  where 
they  are  now,"  retorted  Edith,  who  entertained 
strictly  democratic  views  on  the  subject.  "  It 
would  be  better  for  our  social  position  to-day  if 
we  had  had  one  or  two  grocers  or  shoemakers  on 
our  ancestral  tree  instead  of  poets  and  philos- 
ophers whose  legacy  to  us  is  something  short  of 
beggardom!"  she  protested  warmly. 

"  Come,  girls,  don't  wax  so  eloquent  over  those 

[66] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

innocent  Dollivers,"  interposed  Lucy.  "What 
shall  you  wear  to  Mrs.  Doyle's  ' afternoon?" 

"I  shan't  go,  for  one,"  said  Sophie.  "I've 
nothing  to  wear,  as  usual ;  and  I  'm  too  busy  with 
my  essay  on  '  The  Influence  of  Heredity  over 
Environment'  for  the  Woman's  Club." 

"  Why,  the  dotted  challis  you  Ve  just  made 
over,  with  that  handsome  lace  from  Aunt  Mary's 
collar,  is  just  the  thing,"  suggested  Lucy.  "  I 
think  we  ought  to  go.  An  invitation  from 
Mrs.  Doyle  at  this  particular  time  is  a  great 
compliment." 

"I  shall  wear  my  blue  organdie.  That's 
always  becoming,"  complied  Edith,  dancing  away 
with  a  pretty  tra-la-la,  to  press  jt  out  for  the 
occasion. 

'That's  right,  look  your  prettiest;  I  hear 
Benedict  Travis  is  to  be  there,"  called  out  Lucy. 

"  It  won't  do  a  bit  of  good,"  resumed  Sophie 
pessimistically.  "  They  say  he  's  seen  Matilda 
at  church,  and  is  crazy  to  meet  her." 

"  So  is  Dr.  Rasburn,  I  hear,"  said  Lucy. 

[67] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Well,  I  don't  see  where  the  attraction  is," 
snapped  Sophie,  "unless  it's  the  money,"  and 
marched  off  to  inspect  her  old  challis  gown. 

The  select  "  afternoon  "  at  the  quiet,  refined 
home  on  St.  John's  Street,  following  their  first 
period  of  mourning,  was  an  uncommonly  pleas- 
ant affair.  Every  one  invited  was  present. 
Even  the  Atwood  ladies  who  were  not,  dropped 
in  to  call,  by  mere  coincidence,  towards  the  latter 
part  of  the  day,  and  were  compelled  to  shake 
hands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dolliver  who  seemed 
to  be  the  life  of  the  party. 

"It  is  a  perfect  mystery  to  me,"  observed 
Maud  as  the  three  stepped  stiffly  into  their  glit- 
tering car,  feeling  that  they  had  been  slighted, 
"  why  every  one  seems  to  make  so  much  of  that 
girl.  Did  you  notice  Mrs.  Doyle's  arm  around 
her  when  she  was  being  introduced?" 

"  It  is  on  Helene's  account,"  said  Angela. 
"You  know  she  has  grown  fond  of  Matilda  in 
spite  of  having  been  with  her  so  constantly." 

"  That  was  the  Misses  Pettingills'  policy,"  said 
the  mother.  "It  may  not  be  altogether  sincere. 

[68] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Helena  Doyle  does  not  show  her  feelings.  But 
did  you  notice  those  young  men  surrounding  her 
like  a  blockade?  They  could  hardly  tear  them- 
selves away  long  enough  to  be  polite  to  us !  There 
is  certainly  a  kind  of  magnetic  attraction  about 
that  young  person  which  I  should  be  sorry  to  see 
in  my  daughters.  It  will  play  the  mischief  some- 
where." Mother  At  wood  closed  her  lips  very 
tightly  after  this  prophetic  utterance  and 
gathered  up  her  silken  skirts  about  her  with 
effusion. 

"I  hope  not  with  Helene,"  pursued  Maud, 
malevolently. 

"It  is  very  likely  to  be.  Where  do  we  stop 
next,  daughters?" 

"  At  the  Del  Bondios' ;  it  is  the  nearest  point 
on  our  way,"  said  Angela,  turning  to  direct  the 
chauffeur. 

;'  Very  well,  I  shall  inform  them  of  my  senti- 
ments regarding  Miss  Dolliver,  for  I  should  like 
to  know  their  aristocratic  opinion  on  the  subject." 

The  Atwood  motor-car  sped  around  the  corner, 
leaving  but  slight  impression  of  its  occupants 

[69] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

upon  the  selected  company  at  Mrs.  Doyle's. 
Helene,  however,  was  not  at  all  concerned  about 
the  impression  Matilda  had  produced  upon  her 
friends ;  but  rather  what  effect  they  had  produced 
upon  her. 

"How  did  you  enjoy  them?"  she  asked  as  she 
helped  Matilda  on  with  her  wrap  upstairs. 

'  You  know  what  I  think  of  the  Atwoods,"  said 
Matilda  smiling. 

"  I  don't  mean  them,  I  mean  the  others." 

"They  are  dears,  all  of  them,"  returned 
Matilda,  gently  pressing  her  friend's  hand.  "  I 
was  so  glad  to  meet  the  two  elder  Hadley  girls. 
Sophie  is  so  original  and  droll,  and  Lucy  is  a 
darling." 

"And  Dr.  Rasburn,  and  Benedict?" 

Oh,  Benedict,  —  he  is  by  far  the  more  at- 
tractive of  the  two.    He  is  a  protege  of  yours,  is 
icnot?" 

"  We  played  together  when  children.  We  have 
been  friends  a  long  time.  I  hope  you  will  like 
him.  He  is  going  home  with  you,  Dr.  Rasburn 
with  the  Hadleys." 

[70] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  I  will  try  to,  for  your  sake,"  and  Matilda 
leaned  forward  to  kiss  Helene  —  the  first  time  in 
their  year's  acquaintance. 

"  That  was  a  successful  little  affair,"  said  Mrs. 
Doyle  as  the  last  guest  left  the  house,  "  and  all 
owing  to  you,  Helene.  You  always  manage  to 
bring  together  people  who  will  not  clash  or  ruffle 
each  other.  That  is  the  true  art  of  entertaining, 
a  trait  which  you  must  have  inherited  from  my 
side  of  the  family." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Helene  Doyle  was 
responsible  for  Matilda's  introduction  into  one  of 
the  choicest,  yet  most  formidable  little  circles  of 
Baltimore  society. 


[71] 


CHAPTER  IV 

BENEDICT:    THE  ONE  BLESSED 

"Ah,  fill  the  Cup:  —  what  boots  it  to  repeat 
How  Time  is  slipping  underneath  our  Feet: 

Unborn  To-morrow,  and  dead  Yesterday, 
Why  fret  about  them  if  To-day  be  sweet!  " 

NOW  and  then  we  come  across  his  like  in  this 
world  of  ours;  a  creature  who  from  his 
birth  seems  to  move  in  sublime  agreement  with 
God  and  Nature.  Mrs.  Travis  must  have  had 
prescience  of  her  son's  fair  destiny.  She  was 
moved  to  call  him  Benedict,  which  philologically 
interprets  itself  into:  "One  who  is  blessed  of 
God."  From  childhood  he  had  been  favored 
beyond  the  lot  of  ordinary  man.  An  only  son 
reared  by  an  adoring  and  tender  mother,  directed 
by  a  strong,  upright  father,  he  seemed  to  have 
imbibed  and  concentrated  in  his  small  personality 
all  the  traits  of  the  gentlemanly  stock  from  which 

[72] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

he  descended.  The  Travises  possessed  good 
blood  and  the  quintessence  of  grit  and  honor  for 
generations  back.  In  the  history  of  Baltimore 
they  had  figured;  some  as  warriors  and  conquer- 
ors, others  as  peacemakers  and  civilizers  of  men. 
They  owned  great  tracts  of  fertile  country  where 
they  themselves  dwelt  and  furnished  a  living  to 
hosts  of  other  fellow-men.  Their  sons,  raised  in 
that  atmosphere  of  peace,  plenty,  and  industry 
—  the  industry  of  mind  and  body  —  had  grown 
to  manhood  in  that  larger  life  of  pure  air  and  un- 
dulating meadows ;  amid  the  growth  and  fruitage 
of  the  great  forces  that  move  the  world.  -They 
were,  without  exception,  true  and  noble  sons  of 
the  soil. 

Benedict  Travis  drew  from  this  chain  of  stal- 
wart antecedents  his  vigorous  physique,  his 
healthy  mind  and  sound  judgment,  all  the  qual- 
ities that  won  for  him  the  approbation  of  his 
fellows.  His  grandfather  had  been  a  scholar  — 
a  sort  of  Jean- Jacques  Rousseau — whose  sons 
had  naturally  followed  in  way  of  their 
predecessor. 

[73] 


Major  Travis  had  united  in  his  beautiful  home, 
'  Willow  Brook,"  all  the  elements  requisite  to  the 
perfect  up-bringing  of  his  son  Benedict.  In  the 
great  stone  mansion,  with  its  vast  cool  rooms,  its 
wide  halls  and  verandas,  its  orchards  and  sur- 
rounding gardens,  and  far  beyond  him  that 
horizon  of  fields  and  meadows  where  the  grain 
swelled  and  the  cattle  grazed  beside  peaceful 
streams  —  young  Benedict  Travis  grew  up  to 
manhood. 

He  loved  the  place.  Though  soon  impelled 
from  it  by  his  youthful  aspirations  and  ambition, 
for  he  looked  to  the  city  near  by  for  the  realiza- 
tion of  all  his  hopes  for  the  future,  he  never 
ceased  to  yearn  for  the  spot  where  his  first  and 
strongest  affections  were  rooted. 

He  was  a  tall,  well-built  young  fellow  who 
walked  erect,  his  head  aloft  like  a  young  Greek. 
His  eyes  of  a  sapphire  blue  were  set  deep  beneath 
his  brows.  Against  his  dark  hair,  they  suggested 
a  remote  tinge  of  Irish  ancestry.  Major  Travis, 
however,  always  declared  that  naught  but  Eng- 
lish blood  flowed  in  the  Travis  veins.  There 

[74] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

might  have  been  an  infusion  somewhere  in  the 
mother's,  who  was  American  born. 

The  boy's  first  approach  to  any  one  was  always 
genial,  smiling,  and  frank.  The  pressure  of  his 
hand  immediately  set  one  upon  a  free-masonry  of 
good-fellowship,  and  gradually  drew  one  nearer 
and  nearer  by  those  subtle  attractions,  personality 
and  youth.  He  was  everybody's  chum.  Men, 
women,  and  children  alike  took  him  into  their 
confidence,  and  found  him  a  rare  companion. 

At  college  he  was  popular  and  at  the  head  of 
anything  that  called  forth  the  expenditure  of 
strong  physical  or  mental  effort.  His  professors 
soon  came  to  observe  the  wise  precaution  of  never 
praising  him  publicly.  Secretly  they  felt  for  him 
as  for  an  enfant  gate  who  resisted  every  tempta- 
tion to  be  spoiled.  His  mind  had  been  charged 
with  the  strength  and  glory  of  Nature's  elemental 
forces  —  the  living  grain,  the  fragrant  hop-vine, 
the  vigor  of  ripening  barley,  the  strong  breezes 
that  blew  across  the  bending  harvest  to  infuse  the 
very  life-blood  into  his  young  veins.  The  con- 
quering spirits  of  the  world  all  come  from  the 

[75] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

country,  the  vast  productive  country:  for  in  it 
are  health  and  strength,  and  beauty  and  kind- 
ness of  heart  inculcated  into  its  sons  by  Nature's 
own  graciousness. 

From  college  Benedict  aspired  to  the  dignity 
of  the  law.  In  the  city  he  met  an  old  friend 
of  his  father,  a  prominent  judge  of  the  Superior 
Court  of  Baltimore,  who  took  him  into  a  mild 
sort  of  partnership.  At  first  Benedict  was  all 
seriousness  and  enthusiasm  in  his  profession.  It 
was  his  nature  to  dive  deep  or  not  at  all.  He 
would  sit  among  his  books  and  papers  hour  after 
hour,  day  after  day,  intent  upon  his  determina- 
tion to  achieve  success  in  this  as  in  everything 
else. 

One  morning  in  June  when  the  thermometer 
had  soared  beyond  its  normal  limitations,  Judge 
Sanford  entered  his  office  and  found  young 
Travis  literally  ensconced  in  a  medley  of 
municipal  books  and  sheets. 

"  Put  up  all  this  stuff  and  take  a  spin  out  upon 
a  country  road  a  morning  like  this,  my  boy.  The 
office  is  stuffy;  you  need  the  out-door  air." 

[76] 


•J 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  I  Ve  been  brought  up  on  air,"  returned  Bene- 
dict, brightly;  "  I  think  I  Ve  stored  up  enough  to 
last  me  some  years.  If  you  don't  object,  I'll 
finish  up  the  thing  this  morning,  and  beg  off  for 
this  afternoon." 

"What's  up?"  grinned  the  judge.  "Some 
social  doings,  eh  ?  You  '11  take  a  high  hand  at 
that,  if  you  once  get  started." 

"Just  a  small  informal  afternoon  at  the 
Doyles'.  You  know  them." 

'  Yes,  yes,  you  're  all  right  there.  How  are 
they  all?" 

;'  Pretty  well,  I  think.  Mrs.  Doyle  is  cheering 
up  a  bit  now  Helene  is  at  home  for  the  vacation. 
They  are  entertaining  a  few  friends  for  the  first 
time  in  a  year." 

:c  There 's  a  fine  young  woman  for  you! "  —  the 
judge  was  enthusiastic.  "  I  mean  Helene.  You 
ought  to  see  a  great  deal  of  her." 

"  I  do.  I  've  frequented  their  house  ever  since 
I  first  came  to  Baltimore.  Don't  you  remember, 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Doyle  used  to  come  out  to  Willow 
Brook  to  spend  the  Summers?  Helene  and  I 

[77] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

played  together  as  children."  The  young  man 
smiled.  "  I  never  had  a  sure-enough  sister,  you 
know,  Judge ;  Helene,  though,  fills  the  place  with 
eminent  success." 

Judge  Sanford  regarded  him  quizzically  a 
moment. 

"Sister?"  he  said  meaningly. 

But  Benedict  continued  to  meet  his  look,  and 
the  judge  pursued: 

"  There  are  plenty  of  sisters  around  that  you 
can  pick  up  for  a  song,  but  not  many  like  Helene 
Doyle.  She's  an  exceptional  young  woman. 
Hold  on  to  her.  What  are  you  going  to  do  there 
this  afternoon,  —  meet  some  of  her  numerous 
friends?" 

"  I  know  most  of  them,  the  Hadleys  and  a  few 
others.  But  it 's  Miss  Dolliver,  I  think,  who  is  to 
be  the  central  figure." 

"  What!    The  millionaire's  daughter?  " 

"  Yes,  don't  be  alarmed "  ;  and  Benedict 
laughed  lightly.  "  I  'm  proof  against  money 
temptations.  I'll  try  to  resist  them  to  please 

[78] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

you  and  my  father,"  he  added  with  refuting 
good-nature. 

"  Then,  fire  away;  I'll  put  up  my  money  on 
Helene  if  the  fight  grows  hot." 

"  It 's  safe  to  stake  your  wager  on  an  undis- 
puted fact,  like  the  katy-did,"  bantered  Travis. 

The  Judge  gave  him  a  searching  look,  and  both 
men  fell  to  the  tasks  at  their  respective  desks. 

To  deny  that  Benedict  was  pleased  with 
Matilda  that  afternoon  would  be  to  make  a 
wrong  assertion.  In  fact,  he  was  quite  struck 
by  her  appearance,  her  freshness,  and  straight- 
forwardness of  thought.  He  guessed  at  once 
the  keynote  of  their  sudden  congeniality; 
these  two  beings  who  had  begun  life  in  God's  pure 
air  reflected  in  their  faces  the  intense  joy  of  liv- 
ing which  they  found  in  their  now  more  narrowed 
existence.  He  was  acquainted  with  the  Atwood 
girls,  Maud  and  Angela.  He  was  not  attracted 
by  them.  They  were  too  superficial  and  artificial ; 
their  near  presence  was  stifling. 

At  the  Hadleys'  he  was  enjoyably  and  domes- 

[79] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tically  entertained.  He  spent  many  hours  at  their 
modest  home  where  he  installed  himself  like  a 
relative ;  solemnly  advising  Sophie  in  her  imprac- 
tical ventures  and  poking  mild  fun  at  her;  sym- 
pathizing with  and  petting  Lucy  who  bore  the 
burdens  of  the  home  and  wrestled  with  the  daily 
problem  of  living  very  well  on  very  little.  As  to 
Edith  who  was  younger  and  more  in  his  world, 
he  gratified  her  by  paying  due  homage  to  her 
blonde  beauty,  listening  to  her  pretty  singing,  and 
accompanying  her  to  social  functions  now  and 
then  when  she  lacked  an  escort.  Altogether  they 
formed  a  very  amicable  little  coterie. 

With  Helene,  however,  he  showed  his  serious 
side.  Alone  with  her  he  was  always  boyishly 
candid  and  open.  He  talked  of  his  plans  for  the 
future;  he  discussed  all  sorts  of  topics  of  interest 
to  them  both,  —  sociology,  religion,  ethics,  and 
politics  alike.  They  took  endless  satisfaction  in 
working  a  subject  threadbare,  treating  it  from 
every  point  as  if  their  decision  of  the  matter  were 
a  monumental  issue  to  themselves  and  the  coun- 
try at  large.  They  were  on  a  more  equal  mental 

[80] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

level  than  the  others  and  thus  had  formed  an  al- 
most necessary  habit  of  seeing  each  other  often. 
Truly  there  existed  a  rare  sympathy  between 
these  two  handsome,  high-bred,  young  people. 
A  As  he  told  the  judge,  Helene  stood  to  him 
more  in  the  relation  of  a  sister  than  any  woman  he 
iiad  ever  known.  He  was  just  twenty-one  and  she 
/not  quite  a  year  older,  but  it  was  not  their  equality 
/  of  age  as  much  as  their  uniformity  of  mind  that  1 
/  had  cemented  their  two  natures  into  an  indis-   ' 
/      soluble  friendship.    Friendship  it  was,  not  yet 
platonic  on  either  side,  for  neither  of  them  had 
ever  indulged  in  the  triviality  of  a  love  affair.     / 
Benedict  was,  as  he  had  told  the  judge,  safe.          / 

Not  many  days  after  he  had  met  Matilda  he 
repaired  again  to  the  Doyles',  to  talk  of  her  with 
ene.     She  opened  the  topic  by  inquiring  his 
opinion. 

Travis  reflected.  "  She  possesses  a  strong 
individuality,"  he  remarked  at  length.  "  She  has 
a  straightforward  manner  of  pleasing  that  I  like. 
And  then,  Helene,  in  this  day  and  age  it  is  a  little 
unusual  to  come  across  a  girl  so  courteous  to  her 

[81] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

parents,  so  thoughtful  of  their  welfare."  He  was 
obviously  thinking  of  the  disparity  between  them 
and  Matilda. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  traits  that  I  most  admire 
in  Matilda,"  said  Helene.  "  Do  you  know  what 
Maupassant  says  somewhere  of  women?" 

He  watched  her,  interestedly. 

"He  says,"  Helene  went  on:  *  'Woman  has 
neither  race  nor  caste.  Her  charm  alone  suffices 
and  takes  the  place  of  birth  and  family.  Her 
native  finesse,  her  instinctive  elegance  and  sub- 
tleness of  mind,  constitute  the  only  hierarch  that 
can  make  a  woman  of  the  people  the  equal  of 
great  ladies." 

Travis  thoughtfully  nodded.  "You  mean," 
he  said,  "that  she  exemplifies  his  opinion?" 

"  It  is  largely  a  matter  of  prejudice,"  returned 
Helene,  looking  at  him  with  her  special  smile. 
"  In  Matilda's  case  I  will  accede  to  it,  but  not  in 
many  others." 

"The  exception  that  proves  the  rule,"  Travis 
observed.  ;c  Yes,  Miss  Dolliver  is  an  exceptional 
case.  Compare  her,  for  example,  with  - 

[82] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

But  he  did  not  finish.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to 
criticise  others,  impossible  if  they  were  ladies. 
Helene,  however,  who  could  read  almost  his  every 
thought,  who  was  as  familiar  with  all  the  details 
that  went  to  make  up  his  life  as  she  was  with  her 
own,  supplied  the  rest. 

'  You  were  thinking  of  the  Atwood  girls,"  she 
said.  His  silence  was  taken  for  assent,  and  she 
proceeded.  "I  know.  But,"  with  a  twinkle, 
"comparisons  are  always  odious."  She  loved  to 
tease  him  whenever  she  divined  that  he  was 
specially  interested  in  some  girl. 

Both  felt  that  the  Atwood  girls  were  heartless 
in  their  treatment  of  their  parents,  that  they 
were  wanting  in  sense.  Atwood  pater  toiled  day 
in  and  day  out  for  their  sole  pleasure  and  comfort. 
He  had  grown  to  be  a  convenient  sort  of  machine, 
grinding  out  the  necessary  luxuries  of  life 
for  them  with  a  punctual  regularity  that  caused 
them  to  be  utterly  heedless  and  selfish.  Their 
demands  were  insatiable.  Instead  of  showing 
gratitude,  as  Miss  Dolliver  did,  they  tyrannized 

[83] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

mercilessly  over  the  poor  man,  withholding  even 
the  meed  of  some  slight  show  of  affection. 

"  What  joy,"  asked  Benedict,  "  does  Mr. 
Atwood  find  in  life  with  his  nose  ever  at  the 
grindstone?" 

"  Mr.  Atwood,  fortunately,  is  endowed  with  an 
amiable  disposition  and  that  saving  trait,  a  sense 
of  humor.  He  laughs  at  the  girls'  discontent  — 
and  goes  on  gratifying  their  extravagant  whims. 

"  There,"  Helene  explained,  "  lies  his  satisfac- 
tion This  question  of  people  educating  their 
children  far  beyond  their  own  position  in  life,  so 
that  when  the  children  return  home,  developed, 
the  breach  made  by  their  absence  places  them  far 
ahead  of  their  parents  in  social  or  mental  prog- 
ress, is  one  of  the  problems  of  the  day.  On  the 
wisdom  of  such  a  course,  we  who  live  in  a  land  of 
social  and  moral  freedom  must  refrain  from 
dogmatizing." 

"  I  '11  grant  all  that,"  said  Benedict,  in  a  tone 
which  betrayed  that  she  was  not  amplifying  that 
phase  of  the  topic  which,  for  the  moment,  held  his 
interest.  "  But  I  want  you  to  agree  with  me  that 

[84] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Matilda  Dolliver  is  away  ahead  of  the  average 
girl."  He  waited  with  some  eagerness  for  her 
response,  which  the  girl  was  quick  to  note. 

"  Fie,  Benedict,"  she  teased.  "  It  is  a  mistake 
to  encourage  so  warm  an  interest." 

"In  another  girl?"  retorted  he,  matching  her 
bright  regard. 

In  any  girl.  Do  not  forget,  young  man,  that 
your  future  is  yet  to  be  carved;  you  are  only 
learning  how  to  handle  the  tools." 

r' Am  I  squelched?"  he  laughed.  "I  am.  I 
think,  though,  you  might  answer  my  question 
without  doing  me  any  particular  harm.  Neither 
I  nor  Miss  Dolliver  is  in  any  immediate  danger." 

"Well,"  said  Helene,  with  an  air  of  gravely 
considering  the  matter,  "  I  will  admit  that 
Matilda  has  one  or  two  traits  that  make  her  in  a 
way  superior  to  some  girls." 

"  Rubbish!  "  -  scornfully.  '  You  know  bet- 
ter!" 

The  thin,  fine  lips  curved  in  their  mysterious 
smile.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  seriously  now,  "  Matilda 
is  much  superior  to  the  average  girl.  I  have  lived 

[85] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

with  her  during  the  better  part  of  a  year,  and 
have  discovered  in  her  many  traits  of  character 
that  I  admire.  She  is  a  sweet,  lovable  girl. 
Matilda's  mother  comes  from  very  good  stock,  but 
she  is  timid,  retiring,  afraid  of  her  husband's  and 
daughter's  advancement." 

"  And  there  is  something  pathetic  about  that," 
mused  the  young  man.  "  As  the  faded  mother  is 
standing  still,  they  are  marching  away  from  her, 
leaving  her  alone.  Her  eyes  only  can  follow  them 
—  wistfully,  I  fancy." 

"  That  is  the  inevitable  fate  that  awaits  some 
women,"  said  Helene.  "  Mrs.  Dolliver's  life  has 
been  lived  in  a  rut;  all  her  habits  of  mind  and 
body  are  fixed ;  while  Mr.  Dolliver's  life  has  been 
one  of  much  variety.  Although  without  any 
education  to  speak  of,  nevertheless  he  has  learned, 
and  is  still  capable  of  learning  and  growing. 
Matilda  realizes  this.  Quietly,  without  ostenta- 
tion, she  is  trying  to  improve  her  father,  to  impart 
to  him  some  of  her  acquired  polish  and  innate 
refinement  of  character.  As  his  heart  is  wrapped 
up  in  her,  her  efforts  are  bound  to  produce  some 

[86] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

result.  He  very  gratefully  accepts  these  attempts, 
striving  earnestly  to  profit  by  them." 

"  How  fine  a  thing  it  is,"  asserted  Travis,  "  for 
a  girl  to  protect  her  parents  from  ill-natured, 
malicious  tongues.  Her  patent  pride  in  them  is 
disarming." 

'Yes,"  assented  Helene,  "it  is  very  fine  — 
and  uncommon." 

When  he  left  Helene  Doyle's  he  came  away 
with  the  set  determination  that  he  would  call  upon 
Miss  Matilda,  as  he  had  been  invited  to  do  by 
her  father,  at  his  earliest  opportunity.  To  a 
young  man  not  especially  interested,  it  would 
hardly  have  been  necessary  to  promote  the  ac- 
quaintance, for  she  and  Helene  were  constantly 
together,  and  he  wrould  have  ample  occasion  to 
meet  her  at  the  Doyles'.  But  he  was  interested 
and  frankly  admitted  it. 


[87] 


CHAPTER  V 

BENEDICT   PUESUES  MISS  DOLLIVEfi's 
ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  The  Grape  that  can  with  Logic  absolute 
The  Two-and-seventy  Sects  confute: 

The  subtle  Alchemist  that  in  a  Trice 
Life's  leaden  Metal  into  Gold  transmute." 

DURING  the  years  of  Matilda's  absence 
at  the  Pettingill  School,  the  Dolliver 
mansion  had  been  subjected  to  a  number  of  very 
marked  changes.  Her  fortnightly  visits  home 
were  largely  responsible  for  the  gradual  trans- 
formation. The  Misses  Pettingill  themselves, 
ladies  of  ancient  wealth  and  culture,  were  cog- 
nizant of  the  very  best  usages  of  refined  society. 
They,  therefore,  conducted  their  highly  esteemed 
establishment  on  lines  commensurate  with  their 
former  grandeur.  It  was  their  purpose  to  place 
their  school  appointments  upon  an  exact  level 

[88] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

with  the  homes  of  their  wealthiest  patrons,  thus 
to  elevate  and  place  upon  a  certain  degree  of 
equality  the  daughters  of  those  who  were  not. 

Not  one  detail  of  the  management  had  escaped 
Matilda's  notice.  Her  wakened  sensibilities  were 
ever  on  the  alert.  She  wished  to  extract  every 
advantage  from  this  atmosphere  of  elegance  and 
culture  for  which  her  father  was  paying  generous 
prices.  She  would  not  only  imbue  herself  with 
its  influence,  but  she  would  bring  it  into  her 
father's  home  and  gradually  raise  herself  and 
her  parents  to  a  more  congenial  level. 

The  house  itself,  situated  on  Charles  Street 
Avenue,  could  not  be  improved.  Matilda  had 
helped  her  father  make  the  selection.  But  its 
furnishings,  alas!  swore  roisterously  at  the  noble 
structure. 

The  testimonial  parlor  suite  was  the  first  to  be 
relegated  to  some  remote  part  of  the  great  house. 
A  more  subdued,  refined  substitute  was  installed 
which  pleased  Mrs.  Dolliver's  quiet  tastes  far 
better.  Ario,  with  his  usual  amiability  and  good- 
humor,  approved  and  extolled  everything  sug- 

[89] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

gested  by  his  daughter.  His  estimate  of  her 
judgment  rose  with  every  innovation. 

The  time  soon  came  when  Amanda  had  to 
be  deposed  from  her  province  in  the  dining-room. 
A  young  person  of  more  graceful  and  slender 
presence  appeared  in  her  stead;  a  young  woman 
who  wore  a  cap  and  a  voluminous  white  apron 
joining  at  the  back  with  eccentric  bows,  who 
never  took  the  liberty  of  speaking  to  the  family 
at  table,  unless  addressed;  a  miracle  of  deport- 
ment excerped  from  a  class  of  maids  employed 
by  Mrs.  Doyle.  Helene  and  her  mother  were  in- 
vited to  dine  at  the  Dolliver  mansion,  and  the 
change  had  to  be  effected  before  their  coming. 

Mrs.  Dolliver  had  finally  consented  to  the 
accession  of  two  new  maids  upon  Amanda's  frank 
declaration  that  "  willin'  as  she  was,  she  could  n't 
be  in  nineteen  places  at  once  and  keep  her  head 
on."  Mrs.  Dolliver,  too,  discovered  that  the  care 
of  a  large  house  exhausted  her  waning  strength. 
She  was  growing  old,  she  said,  and  could  n't  begin 
to  do  the  things  she  used  to  when  Matilda  was 
a  baby.  Year  by  year,  as  the  daughter's  educa- 

[90] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tion  progressed,  the  whole  tone  of  the  Dolliver 
establishment  was  metamorphosed.  Its  former 
atmosphere  was  entirely  abrogated  and  reached 
a  level  consistent  with  the  best  homes  of  the  city. 
Mr.  Dolliver,  spurred  by  his  daughter's  ambi- 
tious demands,  fanned  the  fire  of  his  genius, 
and  redoubling  his  energies,  leaped  from  a  mono- 
to  a  multi-millionaire's  estate.  There  was  noth- 
ing too  good  or  too  costly  for  the  home  that  was 
to  be  Matilda's  when  she  should  at  last  grace  it 
by  her  appearance  as  a  strong  factor  in  the  social 
world. 

Mrs.  Dolliver,  who  by  now  had  made  an  un- 
conditional surrender  of  all  her  private  opinions, 
moved  daily  about  her  magnificent  home  with  a 
quiet,  tremulous,  apprehensive  look  of  solicitude. 
She  had  grown  to  say  very  little.  The  expres- 
sion of  her  own  feelings  was  of  so  little  account. 
She  only  looked  her  wonder,  her  admiration, 
when  she  sat  gazing  at  her  two  idols.  Her  words 
were  inadequate. 

One  day  when  Matilda  was  at  home  upon  one 
of  her  visits  she  made  this  announcement: 

[91] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Father,  I  think  we  ought  to  have  a  butler." 

"  A  butler?  "  inquired  Mr.  Dolliver  with  a  ris- 
ing desire  to  accede,  but  wishing  to  be  circum- 
spect about  it.  "  What  is  a  butler? " 

"Why,  father,  you  know  perfectly  well," 
returned  Matilda,  conciliatingly.  "Don't  you 
remember  those  people  who  lived  in  the  big  house 
in  Hackerstown,  and  how  their  butler  used  to 
come  for  crates  of  fruit,  and  how  you  admired 
their  motor-car  he  always  came  in?  They  were 
the  first  in  the  village  to  have  an  automobile." 

"  I  Ve  got  one  now  that 's  a  heap-sight  hand- 
somer 'n  theirs,"  chuckled  Mr.  Dolliver,  with 
irrepressible  glee.  "  Do  the  Atwoods  have  a 
butler? " 

"  Yes." 

"The  Del  Bondios?" 

"I  think  I  heard  Helene  say  that  the  Del 
Bondios  had  one  whose  father,  grandfather,  and 
great-grandfather  had  been  in  the  family  for 
generations  back." 

"Gee  whilikins!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dolliver  in 
surprise.  "  Guess  we  can't  get  one  that  '11  stay 

[92] 


'. 


Father,    \ve  ought  to    have    a  butler" 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

with  us  as  long  as  that.  He  'd  please  your  ma 
mightily,  though.  She  likes  folks  that  come  to 
hire  out  to  stay  a  long  time;  that  is,  if  they're 
the  right  kind. 

"  Well,  if  it 's  a  butler  we  must  have,  get  one ; 
tell  your  mother  to  get  one  —  you  get  one.  Get 
as  many  as  you  like,  my  dear.  I  'd  like  to  see 
how  it  feels  to  have  a  man  '  butling '  around  in 
my  house.'* 

Thus  it  happened  that  when  Benedict  Travis 
came  to  make  his  first  call  at  the  great  mansion, 
he  found  it  all  that  a  fastidious  young  gentle- 
man of  the  world  could  desire.  The  only  thing 
that  could  have  marred  the  harmony  of  its 
artistic  interior  would  have  been  the  presence 
of  its  irrevelant  proprietor.  Mr.  Dolliver, 
according  to  his  custom,  was  in  his  down-town 
office,  whither  he  had  repaired  shortly  after 
dinner. 

That  office  was  his  favorite  sanctum;  the  one 
crucible  of  his  great  industrial  activities;  the 
place  where  he  felt  his  keenest  and  most  real 
enjoyment  of  life. 

[93] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Mrs.  Dolliver's  mild,  delicate  presence,  smiling 
and  thoughtfully  silent,  now  occupied  her  spa- 
cious drawing-room  without  a  feeling  of  intru- 
sion. She  could  have  been  out  of  place  nowhere. 
There  was  always  about  her  the  suggestion  of  a 
fragile  flower  nearing  dissolution,  ready  to 
shake  off  its  trembling  petals  with  the  first  harsh 
blast.  Beside  her  frail,  slightly  stooping  figure 
Matilda  rose,  the  very  essence  of  being,  with  all 
the  freshness  and  fairness  of  youth,  vigor, 
strength,  beauty,  and  gentleness,  toward  the 
deciduous  mother. 

Travis  was  impressed  with  the  sight  as  he 
beheld  them  together  in  their  home  for  the  first 
time.  In  all  his  acquaintance  with  young  ladies 
he  had  never  seen  such  solicitude,  such  thoughtful 
consideration  for  one's  mother,  except  in  the  case 
of  Helene  Doyle.  But  Helene  was  a  rare 
exception  to  the  modes  and  ways  prevalent 
among  the  young  women  of  society. 

He  was  more  and  more  enchanted  with  what 
he  saw  of  Matilda.  She  was  affable,  but  not 
aggressive.  She  held  herself  reservedly  aloof 

[94] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

from  those  she  did  not  know  well.  She  never 
made  advances  when  none  were  proffered.  This 
attitude  debarred  many  from  attempting  a  too 
close  intimacy  with  her. 

With  Benedict  Travis,  however,  her  reserve 
only  inflamed  his  desire  to  be  often  in  her  com- 
pany, to  know  her  character  from  personal  con- 
tact with  her,  rather  than  through  certain 
observations  of  Helene  Doyle's  previously  com- 
municated to  him.  He  realized  more  forcibly 
that  Helene  was  seldom  mistaken  in  her  esti- 
mate of  people.  As  he  talked  with  Matilda  he 
felt  returning  the  strong  congeniality  of  their 
first  meeting.  A  tacit,  rather  surprising  under- 
standing of  each  other's  natures;  one  of  the 
phases  upon  which  he  and  Helene  had  rarely 
touched  —  Matilda's  bringing  up  was  analogous 
with  his  own.  Born  and  reared  in  that  unre- 
stricted, unconventional  atmosphere  of  green 
meadows,  whispering  willows,  undulating  hills, 
and  general  moral  freedom,  added  to  which  was 
her  mental,  yet  delicately  feminine  development 
which  raised  her  to  an  equal  plane  with  him, 

[95] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Benedict  found  endless  delight  in  discovering 
the  pleasant  unity  of  their  ideas. 

When  he  left  her  that  evening,  his  thoughts 
were  very  much  engrossed.  As  he  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  starry  night,  reproaching  the  gaudy 
glare  of  the  brilliant  avenue,  Lorenzo's  rap- 
turous words  came  to  him: 

"On  such  a  night "  -but  he  checked  him- 
self and  finished  the  citation  with  his  own  words, 
"one  could  write  poetry  and  enjoy  it."  He 
laughed  aloud  at  his  own  exaltation.  Then 
reasoning  with  himself: 

"It  is  really  quite  absurd  how  the  mere  con- 
tact with  an  attractive  young  woman  who  agrees 
with  a  fellow  on  every  point,  will  send  him 
dancing  off  to  Olympus  without  the  slightest 
preparation !  Well,  I  Ve  promised  to  spend  to- 
morrow evening  at  the  Hadleys';  that  will  sober 
me  back  to  the  humdrum  of  mundane  affairs," 
he  added,  as  he  ascended  the  steps  of  his  apart- 
ment hotel  and  nodded  genially  to  the  elevator 
boy. 

[96] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   HADLEYS  AT   HOME 

"  With  them  the  Seed  of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 
And  with  mine  own  hand  wrought  to  make  it  grow; 

And  this  was  all  the  Harvest  that  I  reap'd  — 
'  I  came  like  Water,  and  like  Win$  I  go.' " 

NOT  far  from  the  Doyles'  residence,  on 
Park  Avenue,  was  the  Hadley  home;  a 
rather  pretentious  name  for  so  small  a  street 
where  the  houses  could  hardly  be  called  resi- 
dences. Yet  the  Hadley  girls  were  glad  to  give 
their  address  to  their  most  intimate  friends;  glad 
that  it  was,  at  least,  an  avenue,  and  not  a  half- 
street  with  an  ignominious  name  like  "  Goose- 
"berry  Lane  "  or  "  Pigeon  Cove  Road,"  as  Sophie 
explained  to  a  well-meaning  neighbor  who  came 
to  offer  her  assistance  in  helping  them  secure  a 
reliable  milk-man  the  day  after  they  had 
moved  in. 

[97] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"It's  a  comfort  to  have  kindly  disposed 
people  in  the  vicinity.  We've  always  been  used 
to  a  large  house ;  but  now  that  we  're  alone,  — 
no  man  in  the  family  since  father's  death,  — 
we  Ve  got  to  get  along  in  this  little  rabbit-hutch 
and  make  the  best  of  it!  " 

"What  did  your  father  die  of?"  asked  the 
neighbor,  by  way  of  showing  interest. 

"Big  tobacco  deal — loss  of  money  —  nervous 
break-down  —  broken  heart,"  enumerated  the 
eldest  Miss  Hadley,  striking  each  of  these  calam- 
ities off  on  her  fingers  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
manner. 

"  He  must  have  been  still  a  young  man,"  was 
the  next  remark  of  sympathy. 

"Oh,  mercy,  nol  I'm  past  thirty-five  and 
Lu  is  past  thirty.  Edith  is  the  only  young 
thing  in  our  family.  She  draws  the  butterflies. 
There's  always  some  young  man  dancing  her 
attendance.  Father  was  nearly  seventy  when  he 
died." 

"  Your  sister  Edith  is  real  pretty  —  she  has 

[98] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

such  lovely  hair.  I  saw  her  coming  in  this  morn- 
ing with  her  arms  full  of  bundles." 

"  She'd  been  to  market;  we  haven't  fished  out 
the  market  basket  from  the  debris;  so  many 
things  get  lost  when  one  moves.  She  came  back 
with  her  purse  empty.  When  I  asked  her  why 
she  'd  spent  all  her  money,  she  answered,  '  I  did 
it  purposely,  I  wanted  to  create  a  vacuum.' ' 

"  She  must  be  real  clever  and  witty,"  said  the 
visitor,  quite  impressed. 

'  You  see,"  Sophie  went  on,  "  we  have  a  tradi- 
tion in  our  family;  it's  that  when  any  one  of 
us  is  hard  up  and  spends  every  last  cent  she 's 
got,  as  sure  as  fate,  money  drops  down  from 
somewhere.  Aunt  Mary  sends  us  a  box  of 
Cousin  Harriette's  old  fineries  or  a  check  for 
some  one's  birthday,  or  Edith  gets  a  new  piano 
pupil  who  pays  by  the  lesson,  or  Lucy  has  an 
order  for  a  batch  of  home-made  mince-meat  or 
English  plum-pudding  —  it  never  fails.  I'm 
the  only  one  that  never  succeeds  in  bagging 
anything.  I  Ve  tried  to  write  stories  for  the 

[99] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

magazines;  they  all  come  back — some  with 
thanks,  and  some  without.  I  do  a  lot  of  literary 
work.  I  'm  busy  now  with  an  article,  very  deep 
subject,  '  The  Influence  of  Heredity  versus 
Environment.'  I  'd  like  to  sell  it,  but  if  I  don't 
I'll  patch  it  up  for  the  Woman's  Club.  They 
like  my  things,  anyway." 

Sophie  rattled  on  in  this  manner  without  in- 
terruption, hardly  pausing  to  take  breath. 

Although  a  Pettingill  graduate  of  some  six- 
teen or  seventeen  years  back,  she  had  fallen  into 
a  masculine  way  of  using  slang  and  happy-go- 
lucky  phrases,  much  to  the  chagrin  of  the  two 
other  sisters  who  felt  that,  in  spite  of  their 
reverses,  they  were  still  "ladies." 

The  friendly  neighbor  was  not  tired  though 
she  had  been  standing  all  the  while ;  for  the  tied- 
up  chairs  were  not  "get-at-able,"  Sophie  said. 
Miss  Sophie  was  so  entertaining —  But  at  this 
juncture  the  door  opened  and  Edith  excused 
herself  by  saying, 

"I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Sophie,  but  the 
paper-hangers  are  here  to  renovate  your  room." 

[100] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  visitor  left  promptly,  promising  to  call 
again  and  inviting  Sophie  to  "come  over." 

"  You  all  come  over,"  she  repeated  kindly,  as 
Edith  closed  the  door  very  quietly,  and  immedi- 
ately turned  upon  Sophie: 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,  now  you  've  told 
our  whole  family  history  to  that  woman,"  said 
Edith,  with  asperity.  "If  you  have  nothing 
else  to  tell  her,  would  you  mind  helping  me 
untie  that  roll  of  carpet?" 

"You  needn't  be  so  smart,  Miss  Snippy," 
Sophie  returned  without  the  least  show  of  resent- 
ment. "  If  I  did  n't  talk  I  wouldn't  say  anything, 
would  I?  I  talked  about  our  affairs  because  I 
need  to  —  to  get  inspiration  for  my  work." 

"  Oh,  that 's  the  way  you  get  inspiration,  is 
it?"  Edith  studied  her  elder  sister's  placid 
visage.  "  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  go  and  spend  the 
rest  of  the  morning  with  her;  I  wish  you  would." 

"No,  I  shouldn't,"  said  Sophie,  who  was 
befagged  by  Edith's  sarcastic  remarks. 

"  Come,  come,  girls,"  called  Lucy.  "  Don't 
stand  there  bickering  when  there  is  so  much  to 

[101] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

do  to  get  the  house  settled.  Cannot  one  of  you 
'phone  for  a  man  to  help  open  and  unpack  this 
barrel  of  china?" 

"Where  are  those  miserable  paper-hangers, 
and  what  do  they  want  of  me?"  wailed  poor 
Sophie,  looking  around  her  in  dismay. 

"  They  want  you  to  read  them  your  last  poem 
on  '  The  Cruelty  of  Love  Unrequited,'  "  and  the 
three  girls  separated  with  a  laugh. 

Misnamed  Sophie  had  her  trials,  though  her 
sisters  never  gave  her  credit  for  anything  but 
being  "funny"  and  affording  them  and  their 
friends  inexhaustible  amusement. 

She  often  wondered  why  she  had  been  named 
Sophie,  that  appellation  of  wisdom.  "  Oh,  the 
irony  of  nomenclature!  I'm  not  a  Minerva," 
was  her  familiar  plaint.  "I  don't  see  why 
people  use  so  little  foresight  in  naming  children. 
When  they  behold  their  first-born  —  innocent, 
squirming  thing!  —  they  immediately  think  it  is 
going  to  be  either  the  future  president  or  his 
first  lady,  and  they  invariably  strike  it  wrong. 

"Now,  I  came  into  the  world  with  absolutely 
[102] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

no  qualifications;  no  beauty,  no  fortune,  no  wit, 
no  wisdom.  For  we  were  not  rich  when  I  was 
born.  Mother  had  a  small  legacy  which,  as 
usual,  she  let  father  take  to  put  in  some  big 
investment.  Father  was  always  visionary  and 
high-falutin'  in  his  ideas.  At  first  he  succeeded 
phenomenally.  By  the  time  Edith  was  born  we 
were  very  well  off  indeed.  Mother  sailed 
around  in  her  own  carriages,  like  the  other 
grandees.  I  remember,  when  I  saw  her  dressed 
up  to  kill  to  go  out  in  company,  I  used  to  think 
she  was  the  grandest  of  '  dees.' ' 

"  For  a  while  everything  went  as  fine  as  a 
fiddle.  Lu  and  I  were  sent  to  Pettingill 
Seminary,  each  four  years  successively.  Then, 
k'flump!  came  that  villainous  tobacco  deal  and 
father  lost  everything  but  his  life  insurance.  It 
was  just  about  time  for  Edith's  education  to 
begin  and  mother  wouldn't  hear  of  her  darling's 
going  to  public  school.  She'd  take  boarders 
rather  than  subject  her  precious,  delicate  darling 
to  such  humiliation.  The  Miss  Pettingills  came 
to  call  and  found  mother  in  tears  over  her 

[103] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

dilemma.  No  doubt  the  Miss  Pettingills  remem- 
bered remorsefully  the  heaps  and  heaps  of 
money  they'd  already  got  from  us,  so  they 
turned  magnanimous  and  told  mother  not  to 
worry,  Edith  should  enter  Pettingill  School  in 
the  Fall,  concessionally.  The  child  has  been  a 
favorite  there  with  every  one  these  three  years. 
Mother  was  so  grateful  that  she  'd  bake  and  knit 
and  bake  the  whole  time  to  send  them  things.  I 
really  think  she  killed  herself  knitting  and  bak- 
ing. I  wish  you  could  see  the  shawls  and 
afghans,  and  the  pies  and  volovangs.  Of 
course,  we  were  all  glad  that  Edith  was  to  have 
the  same  advantages  that  we'd  had.  They 
gave  her  music  lessons  —  both  kinds  —  and 
brought  out  her  voice  wonderfully.  Now,  she 
makes  more  at  giving  little  girls  piano  lessons  in 
a  week  than  Lu  and  I  do  in  a  month.  She  will 
be  graduated  next  year  with  Matilda  Dolliver 
and  the  others.  Matilda  thinks  she  ought  to  do 
wonders  with  her  voice,  and  she  's  promised  to 
help  her." 

In  this  wise  Sophie  entertained  whomsoever 
[104] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

she  could  with  the  "  family  secrets."  The  two 
younger  girls  reproved  and  implored  her  to 
guard  her  tongue,  but  all  in  vain.  Sophie  would 
agree  with  them  that  it  was  not  necessary  to 
publish  all  one's  private  affairs;  promised  to  be 
discreet,  and  would  resume  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

However,  the  Hadley  girls  were  well  thought 
of,  not  only  in  their  present  locality  but  among 
those  who  had  previously  been  their  friends. 
Every  one  seemed  to  overlook  Sophie's  singulari- 
ties, and  made  due  allowances.  For  in  spite 
of  her  one  unruly  member  she  was,  as  Matilda  had 
said,  droll  and  strikingly  unique.  Kind  and 
generous-hearted,  but  brainless  as  the  traditional 
March  Hare,  she  spent  her  life  repairing  by 
her  goodness  the  havoc  wrought  by  her 
thoughtlessness . 

It  was  here  in  this  dove-cote  of  simplicity 
and  domesticity  that  Benedict  liked  to  come  to 
shake  off  the  shackles  of  a  too  rigid  convention- 
alism. At  Mrs.  Doyle's,  life,  conversation,  and 
entertainment  were  more  or  less  ceremonial. 

[105] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

There  was  never  the  atmosphere  of  free  expan- 
sion which  he  found  at  the  Hadleys'.  He  ban- 
tered with  Sophie  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects. 
The  eldest  Hadley  girl  could  not  carry  on  a 
serious  discussion  upon  any  topic.  She  was  too 
much  of  a  caqueteuse;  not  enough  of  a  thinker. 
He  would  make  some  startling  declaration  just 
to  get  her  "  rattled,"  as  he  expressed  it,  and  she 
would  try  to  argue  with  him;  but  his  sound 
premises,  his  logical  reasoning,  the  strong  flow- 
ing words  that  made  him  a  good  lawyer  would 
demolish  all  her  poor  casuistry.  Then  feeling 
herself  worsted,  she  would  shake  her  finger  at 
him  roguishly: 

"  I  '11  have  a  talk  with  you  again  about  that 
some  day  and  convince  you."  And  Benedict 
would  cheerfully  accept  the  challenge;  but  that 
"some  day"  of  Sophie's  was  already  lost  in  the 
misty  future  of  impossibilities. 

He  enjoyed  the  Hadleys'  home  because  he 
found  there  entertainment  and  satisfaction  to 
please  every  phase  of  his  nature.  Sophie  amused 
him.  Lucy  afforded  him  an  outlet  for  his  boyish 

[106] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

sympathies.  He  would  follow  her  around  the 
house  from  kitchen  to  garret  when  she  was  con- 
fiding to  him  her  troubles  or  anything  of  special 
interest  about  their  domestic  affairs.  This  was 
a  strikingly  new  side  of  life  to  him.  In  his  own 
home,  where  ease  and  plenty  abounded,  he  had 
never  heard  of  the  perplexities  of  having  to  tirer 
la  ficelle,  —  as  the  French  have  it,  —  to  make 
ends  meet.  He  had  evinced  so  much  interest  that 
Lucy  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  asking  his  advice 
about  every  momentous  question  that  came  into 
their  simple  lives.  He  had  known  them,  through 
Helene  Doyle,  since  his  earliest  college  days. 
That  was  about  the  time  Mr.  Hadley  had  lost 
his  money.  They  struggled  hard  to  keep  up 
appearances  as  long  as  their  mother  lived;  but 
when  she,  too,  left  them,  they  began  to  think 
of  curtailing  their  expenses. 

It  was  Benedict  Travis,  boy  as  he  was,  who 
had  counselled  them  to  make  the  change  from 
their  ruinous,  large  mansion  to  the  humbler 
home  on  Park  Avenue.  In  spite  of  their  reduced 
circumstances,  the  Hadley  girls  retained  their 

[107] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

place  in  Baltimore  society.  They  were  invited 
to  all  large  functions,  although  they  were  not  in 
a  position  to  return  such  civilities.  The  girls 
truly  believed  that  it  was  through  Benedict's  and 
Helene's  continued  loyalty  and  friendship  that 
they  had  not  been  totally  ostracized  from  the 
social  world.  But  it  was  not.  The  Hadley  girls 
were  women  of  refined  and  cultured  habits. 
Edith  and  Lucy,  and  even  Sophie,  when  she 
set  her  mind  to  it,  were  fitted  to  mingle  with  the 
best  society  the  city  afforded — that  city  which 
has  retained  to-day  its  high  ideal  of  what  con- 
stitutes real  culture.  Edith  was  especially  sensi- 
tive to  all  that  was  artistic  and  beautiful.  Her 
charming  voice,  her  pleasing  personality,  secured 
for  her  a  permanent  place  in  all  small  gather- 
ings as  well  as  great.  Their  own  informal  enter- 
tainments to  their  intimate  friends  were  always 
pronounced  most  enjoyable. 

They  had  retained  from  their  former  house  of 
wealth  and  grandeur,  such  things  as  gave  their 
modest  home  an  air  of  culture  and  artistic  refine- 
ment. Benedict  used  to  say  he  would  rather 

[108] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

spend  an  hour  at  the  Hadleys'  than  a  whole 
evening  at  some  of  the  houses  where  pomp  and 
glitter  were  displayed,  and  satiating  banquets, 
served  where  no  true  spirit  of  cordiality  or  hos- 
pitality prevailed. 

It  was  now  three  years  since  the  Hadleys  had 
moved  and  were  comfortably  settled  in  what 
Sophie  was  pleased  to  call  their  "  rabbit-hutch," 
when  Benedict  remembered  his  promise  to  them, 
that  night  returning  from  his  first  call  upon 
Matilda  Dolliver.  They  had  invited  him  and 
others  of  their  coterie  to  an  old-fashioned  "  tea  " 
and  bridge,  a  game  to  which  Sophie  was  espe- 
cially partial.  The  rest  of  the  company  enjoyed 
it  too,  because  it  gave  her  such  a  fine  opportunity 
to  discuss  points  when  she  chanced  to  become 
Benedict's  partner  in  the  course  of  the  games. 

"  He  goes  for  me  as  if  I  were  a  pickpocket 
when  I  happen  to  make  a  wrong  play,"  she  said, 
as  they  all  sat  around  the  tables;  "but  I  don't 
mind  being  sat  upon,  if  I  can  only  learn  to  play 
a  good  game." 

"That  is  one  of  Sophie's  extravagant  meta- 
[109] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

phors,"  condoned  Lucy.  "Benedict  is  never  so 
discourteous  as  she  makes  him  out  to  be." 

"I  don't  mind  being  abused  by  Sophie,"  he 
replied  with  a  screened  look  at  the  offender.  "  I 
rather  enjoy  it." 

It  was  quite  evident  that  Benedict  enjoyed 
everything  when  he  was  among  that  charmed 
circle,  for  Helene  and  Mrs.  Doyle  were  there, 
lending  dignity  and  propriety  to  the  event. 
Matilda  Dolliver  was  at  his  left,  dividing  her 
attention  between  her  mother  and  himself,  radi- 
ating as  she  always  did,  for  him,  the  glorious 
effulgence  of  young  womanhood.  Her  very 
presence  made  his  mind  tingle,  but  he  repressed 
his  desire  to  be  too  much  elated  out  of  consider- 
ation for  others.  They  went  on  bantering, 
exchanging  witticisms  with  one  another,  and  were 
just  finishing  supper  when  every  one's  attention 
was  arrested  by  the  sound  of  heavy  wheels  halt- 
ing before  their  door. 

"  Oh  I  "  cried  Sophie,  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 
"It's  the  express  wagon!" 

Anything  so  unusual  in  the  quiet  street  as  that 
[110] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

lumbering,  imposing  vehicle,  caused  a  thrill  of 
expectant  joy  in  the  hearts  of  the  Hadley  girls 
when  it  stopped  anywhere  near  the  cottage. 

" There  goes  the  door-bell!" 

"  I  '11  go,"  cried  Benedict,  wishing  to  share 
the  fun. 

"  Tell  him  to  bring  it  to  the  back  door.  It 's 
a  barrel!"  directed  Lucy  who  had  run  to  the 
window. 

Young  Travis  made  strides  from  one  entrance 
to  the  other,  arriving  just  in  time  to  hand  a  gen- 
erous fee  to  the  expressman. 

"It  is  Aunt  Mary's  annual  donation,"  an- 
nounced Edith  who  was  unconcernedly  dawdling 
with  her  berries  beside  Dr.  Rasburn.  "I  sup- 
pose we  must  go  and  inspect  the  contents." 

"  It 's  like  a  missionary  box  to  the  heathen," 
exclaimed  Sophie  with  delight,  "and  just  the 
thing  to  have  you  two  men  here  to  open  it." 

"My  stars,  what  luck!"  cried  Benedict. 
"Come  and  fall  to,  you  Rasburn;  we'll  have 
the  thing  done  in  a  jiffy." 

The  two  young  fellows  pulled  off  their  coats 
[111] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

and  went  to  work.  By  this  time,  the  invading 
company  filled  the  small  rear  rooms  and  watched 
operations  with  interest.  Every  one  wore  an 
exulting  smile,  like  children  surrounding  a 
Christmas  tree. 

"The  first  'bags  I'  belongs  to  you  and  me, 
doctor,"  jollied  Benedict.  He  pulled  away  the 
top  paper  and  his  hand  lighted  on  two  huge 
boxes  of  French  bonbons. 

"  That 's  right,"  chimed  Dr.  Rasburn.  "  I  've 
prohibited  all  kinds  of  sweets  to  my  patients," 
trying  to  stuff  the  box  in  a  trousers  pocket. 

"Treasures  untold!"  from  the  enraptured 
Sophie  who  was  pulling  attractive-looking  bun- 
dles from  the  barrel. 

In  the  meantime  Lucy  and  Edith  were  clear- 
ing off  the  table  in  the  dining-room  so  as  to 
prepare  a  place  on  which  to  display  the  barrel's 
treasures. 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  Sophie  wailed,  her  nervous 
fingers  dropping  each  package  as  fast  as  it  was 
picked  up.  "I'm  so  confused!  It's  just  like 
getting  ready  to  have  a  wedding,"  and  when 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

everybody  laughed,  —  "  I  'm  sure  there  's  nothing 
funny  about  it,"  she  rebuked  them. 

"  It 's  up  to  you  to  have  the  first.  You  're  the 
oldest,"  called  out  Edith  from  the  dining-room. 

"  I  am,  but  it 's  not  very  sisterly  to  remind  me 
of  it  so  often.  Phew!  I 'm  all  out  of  breath !" 

"  I  '11  see  if  I  can't  fish  out  of  here  a  new  dress- 
suit  for  the  occasion,"  added  Benedict.  "You 
sit  down,  Sophie,  till  you  get  your  second  wind." 

By  this  time  the  entire  company  had  broken 
into  a  burst  of  rippling  merriment.  Mrs. 
Dolliver  was  pleasantly  reminded  of  her  own 
enthusiasm  at  such  surprising  joys  in  younger 
days.  Matilda  laughed  aloud  at  Benedict's 
hearty  enjoyment  of  the  whole  affair.  Helene's 
invincible  smile  reflected  its  radiance  as  the 
young  moon  sheds  its  soft  light  on  the  woes  and 
joys  of  mortals  here  below. 

Later,  they  played  a  poor,  rather  unsatisfac- 
tory game  of  bridge.  The  Hadley  girls'  minds 
were  continually  reverting  to  the  unlimited  pos- 
sibilities of  the  barrel's  contents. 

"My!"  suddenly  exclaimed  poor  Sophie  in 
[113] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

genuine  dismay.  "Wasn't  that  the  proper 
play?  Then  we've  lost  the  rubber!"  Her 
countenance  wore  such  a  distressed  look  that  the 
disaster  was  forgotten. 

"  Benedict,  I  know  you  '11  never  want  to  play 
with  me  again.  And  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me 
see  what  you  girls  are  laughing  at." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  will,"  condoled  Benedict.  "  I 
would  take  pleasure  in  being  beaten  almost  any 
time,  just  for  another  sight  of  the  expression  on 
your  face.  Somebody  bring  a  hand-glass;  let 
Sophie  laugh  too." 

*  You  knave  of  hearts !    But  I  was  thinking 
Of_of_» 

"  Not  of  me,"  he  said  with  a  despairing  look. 

"  No,  of  that  dress-suit  you  did  n't  fish  out  of 
the  barrel.  So  I  suppose  the  wedding  must  be 
postponed." 

The  party  broke  up  with  endless  expressions 
of  delight;  they  had  all  experienced  such  a  good 
time.  But  it  was  always  thus  at  the  Hadleys'. 
Their  inner  lives  were  free  and  open  as  the  day. 
Even  Edith  who  had  long  cherished  a  secret 

[114] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

desire  to  be  like  Helene  Doyle,  placid,  reserved, 
undemonstrative  of  her  inmost  feelings,  had 
succumbed  to  the  contagious  spirit  of  the  after- 
noon. Taking  into  consideration  the  pleasure  she 
had  had  with  her  friends,  together  with  the  bar- 
rel surprise  from  Minnesota,  her  adamant  resolu- 
tions were  quite  mollified.  She  took  her  elder 
sister's  face  between  her  hands: 

"Oh,  Sophie,  you  dear,  incorrigible  goose!" 
she  said  vehemently.  "  I  wish  some  one  would 
come  along  and  marry  you,  and  take  you  off  to 
—  to  Alaska!" 

"Gracious  goodness!"  Sophia  exploded  in 
consternation.  She  invariably  accepted  the  most 
absurd  suggestion  with  utmost  seriousness. 
"What  would  I  do  in  Alaska?  Talk  to  the 
Eskimos  who  would  n't  understand  a  word  I 
said?  Besides,  I  haven't  any  suitable  clothing. 
No,  thank  you,  Missy,  you've  got  several  wishes 
more  coming  to  you." 

The  three  girls  laughingly  parted  for  the 
night,  feeling,  on  the  whole,  very  well  satisfied 
with  the  result  of  their  "  tea-party." 

[115] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE     YOUNG     LADY     GRADUATES    ARE     LAUNCHED 
UPON    THE    SOCIAL   SEA 

"  Before  the  Phantom  of  False  Morning  died, 
.Methought  a  Voice  within  the  Tavern  cried, 

'  When  all  the  Temple  is  prepared  within, 
Why  nods  the  drowsy  Worshipper  outside?'" 

IT  was  the  Summer  after  their  graduation ;  the 
young  ladies  of  Pettingill  School  had  flown 
hither  and  yon  from  the  city  to  havens  of 
diversion  and  rest  after  the  strenuous  labors 
that  culminated  in  their  final  triumph.  Every 
one  left  Baltimore  in  June.  Even  Helene 
Doyle  and  her  mother  departed  for  some  quiet 
sea-port  near  by,  as  Mrs.  Doyle  could  not  bear 
the  suffocation  of  the  city.  The  only  ones 
among  the  graduates  who  did  not  leave  were 
Edith  Hadley  and  Matilda  Dolliver;  the  first 
because  she  could  not,  owing  to  financial  re- 

[116] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

straint,  the  second  because  she  had  not  yet 
acquired  the  habit.  She  was  well  satisfied  to 
remain  at  home;  the  home  that  had  been  so 
munificently  embellished  for  her  permanent 
reception. 

Among  the  recent  acquisitions  of  the 
Dolliver  mansion  was  a  new  parlor-grand  piano, 
Matilda's  graduating  present.  It  was  con- 
structed upon  the  most  symmetrically  graceful 
Louis  XV  model.  Its  surface  was  completely 
covered  with  a  satin  finish  of  gold-leaf,  giving 
it  an  appearance  of  extreme  elegance  and  splen- 
dor, surrounded  as  it  was  by  a  multitude  of 
chaste  artistic  objects. 

Matilda,  in  her  four  years  of  school,  had 
grown  to  be  an  adept  at  playing  the  beautiful 
instrument.  And  it  was  one  of  her  father's 
chief  compensations  to  see  his  daughter  sitting 
before  it,  at  evening,  extracting  rare,  sweet 
sounds  that  stirred  his  burly  nature  to  depths 
he  had  never  known.  Mrs.  Dolliver  usually 
sat  near  him  to  listen,  and  expressed  her  sensi- 
tiveness only  by  the  tears  trembling  upon  her 

[117] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

lashes.  When  the  strains  were  most  touching 
he  would  lean  comfortingly  toward  her  and 
whisper : 

"  It  affects  me  kind  of  queer-like,  too,  mom- 
mee,"  and  put  his  fine  linen  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes. 

Dolliver  had  learned  to  respect  his  wife's 
more  delicate  organism.  He  no  longer  chided 
her  for  showing  her  emotions.  He  realized  that 
she  had  grown,  with  Matilda,  more  fine,  more 
dainty,  more  suitably  Matilda's  mother.  He 
glowed  inwardly  when  he  stopped  to  realize  the 
fact :  "I  have  made  it  possible  for  them  to  be 
like  this!" 

The  thought  of  his  own  abnormity  never 
entered  his  mind.  They  were  satisfied  with 
him;  that  was  enough;  he  wras  satisfied  with 
himself.  Egotism  was  not  a  component  part 
of  Ario  Dolliver's  nature.  He  lacked  in  many 
ways,  but  not  through  selfishness.  The  pure 
ego  was  with  him  entirely  out  of  the  game.  It 
was  his  power  to  act  and  do  for  others  that 
impelled  him  to  every  venture. 

[118] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Through  the  long  summer  days  that  followed, 
Benedict  Travis  found  it  refreshing  and  invigor- 
ating to  spend  a  few  hours  now  and  then  at 
the  Charles  Street  Avenue  mansion.  He  was 
very  much  engrossed  with  a  difficult  case  placed 
in  his  hands  by  the  judge,  who  was  beginning 
to  shirk  hard  work.  Benedict,  like  Matilda,  had 
not  formed  the  "vacation  habit."  He  found 
rest  and  refreshment  in  her  companionship. 
Sometimes  he  came  with  Edith  Hadley  and 
they  had  charming  musical  evenings;  or  he 
accompanied  Matilda  and  her  mother  on  short 
motoring  tours, —  ample  opportunities,  these,  for 
promoting  friendly  relations. 

While  they  were  on  one  of  these  pleasure 
trips,  one  sultry  afternoon  in  late  August,  Mr. 
Dolliver  was  at  his  down-town  office,  heedless  of 
the  sweltering  atmosphere  and  of  his  clerks' 
fagged-out  expressions  of  weariness.  A  knock 
at  his  private  office  caused  him  to  raise  his  eyes 
to  the  intruder. 

"And  now,  what,  Percy?"  he  demanded  with 
unruffled  countenance. 

[119] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  there 's  a  young  man  here 
that  insists  on  seeing  you." 

"What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he?"  was  the  next 
inquiry  from  Mr.  Dolliver  who  remained 
unperturbed. 

E<  Why,  a  nice  enough  looking  chap.  He  says 
he's  a  college  man  and  selling  some  sort  of  a 
concern  to  help  him  pay  his  way  for  next  year." 

"  Trot  in  your  customer,"  and  Mr.  Dolliver 
moved  away  from  his  papers  and  leaned  back 
in  his  swinging  chair. 

A  bright-looking  youth  promptly  stepped  in. 

"  Good-day,  sir,  I  don't  wish  to  take  up  too 
much  of  your  valuable  time,  but  I  'd  like  to  talk 
with  you  about  an  attachment  that  perhaps 
would  interest  you." 

"Very  well.  Say  what  you  have  to  say  as 
briefly  as  possible.  I  can"  —  with  a  glance  at 
his  watch  —  "give  you  just  five  minutes." 

"  Thank  you,  I  trust  I  shall  convince  you 
the  period  is  not  wasted.  It  will  not  be  if  I 
can  interest  you  in  this  remarkable  attachment, 
the  greatest  development  of  the  age." 

[120] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Mr.  Dolliver  eyed  him  with  such  a  curious 
look  of  severity  and  merriment  combined  that 
the  youth's  enthusiasm  was  checked  for  an  in- 
stant. Mr.  Dolliver  was  repeating  quizzically: 

' '  An  attachment  —  attachment  ? " 

'  You  may  not  understand  just  what  I 
mean,"  the  boy  hastened  to  explain. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  know  the  meaning  of  *  at- 
tachment.' I  have  a  couple  of  very  strong 
attachments  at  my  house  up-town.  Don't  guess 
I  want  any  more  at  my  time  of  life." 

"  But  not  like  the  one  I  'd  like  to  sell  you," 
the  boy  was  trying  to  wedge  in.  "I  hear  you  Ve 
recently  purchased  a  costly  instrument;  with  my 
attachment  you  can  enjoy  the  finest  music 
without  any  one's  taking  the  trouble  to  touch  the 
keys.  It's  a  self -playing  arrangement." 

"Young  fellow,"  began  Mr.  Dolliver,  get- 
ting warmed  up  to  the  point  of  eloquence, 
"you've  got  a  good  deal  of  sand  to  come  to 
this  here  beehive  of  industry  and  expect  me  to 
talk  with  you  about  an  '  attachment,'  when  I  Ve 
already  got  one!  My  daughter  is  the  only  at- 

[121] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tachment  I  want  to  see  at  that  '  costly  instru- 
ment.' Man,  I  Ve  spent  a  good-sized  fortune 
educating  that  daughter  to  every  degree  of 
perfection,  piano-playing  included.  You  come 
and  want  me  to  buy  an  attachment.  Gosh!" 

"But,  sir,"  pursued  the  enterprising  young 
agent,  "you'll  be  having  an  introductory  affair 
for  your  daughter  next  Winter  — :  " 

Mr.  Dolliver's  interest  was  aroused. 

"What's  that?"  he  sharply  interrupted. 

"  You  '11  be  having  an  introductory  affair  for 
your  daughter,"  the  young  man  repeated,  "  and 
at  such  an  occasion  you  can't  depend  on  her  for 
the  music.  She'll  be  standing  in  the  reception 
line." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  'm  going  to  have  one?" 
demanded  Mr.  Dolliver. 

"Because,  sir,  all  the  best  families  do;  and 
I  supposed,  of  course,  you  would." 

'You  supposed  wrong  if  you  supposed  that 
when  I  have  a  coming  out  party  for  my  daugh- 
ter I  '11  have  an  old  attachment  piano-playing 
machine!" 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"It's  not  old,  sir,  it's  the  newest  thing  out 
in  the  line  of  musical  instruments." 

"  I  don't  doubt  your  word.  But  when  I  give 
an  introductory  affair,  I'm  going  to  have  an 
orchestry,  I  am,  the  best  in  the  city."  Mr. 
Dolliver  paused  a  moment  to  reflect  upon  the 
possibilities  which  had  all  at  once  been  opened 
up  in  his  mind.  "  Introductory  affair,"  he  pres- 
ently mused  aloud  —  "attachment*  Humph!" 

Mr.  Dolliver  was  evidently  very  firm  in  his 
decision.  The  young  man  looked  crestfallen 
and  took  up  his  hat  to  go. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,  sir;  good- 
afternoon." 

"  Stop  a  bit! "  said  Mr.  Dolliver  as  the  youth 
was  nearing  the  door.  "  I  'm  inclined  to  believe 
that  the  five  minutes  were  wasted.  I  can  afford 
to  lose  them  better  than  you."  He  pulled  out  his 
book  and  wrote  a  check.  "  Here,  take  this  and 
buy  an  attachment  for  yourself,  your  sweet- 
heart, your  grandmother,  anybody  who  wants 
one!  I  don't." 

The     young     fellow,     doubtful,     wondering, 


walked  back  hesitatingly  to  receive  the  check. 
He  did  not  look  at  it  until  he  had  said,  "  You 
are  very  kind  indeed,  sir,  and  I  thank  you." 

He  went  out  as  promptly  as  he  had  come  in. 
But  Percy,  the  office  boy,  wondered  what  Mr. 
Dolliver  had  done  to  make  his  visitor  so  sud- 
denly happy. 

When  Mr.  Dolliver  returned  to  the  bosom  of 
his  family  that  evening  he  told  them  the  story 
of  the  young  man  with  the  "attachment." 
Matilda  and  her  mother  were  much  amused  by 
his  account  of  the  interview. 

"  But  I  sent  him  off  grinning  all  over,"  he 
added,  and  they  easily  guessed  what  had 
happened. 

"And  now,  what's  all  this  about  giving  com- 
ing out  parties  for  young  ladies  that  have  just 
been  graduated?"  he  inquired,  touching  upon 
the  cue  given  by  the  agent,  which  had  prompted 
the  generous  check.  Mr.  Dolliver  liked  to  be 
enlightened  without  his  ignorance  being  re- 
vealed, and  he  was  ever  ready  to  pay  hand- 
somely for  such  suggestions. 

[124] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"It  is  quite  the  custom  in  families  where  the 
daughters  are  apt  to  go  out  much  into  society," 
exclaimed  Matilda.  "  But  it  will  not  be  necessary 
for  you  to  do  it,  father,  unless  you  want  to. 
We  know  so  few  people." 

"I  do  want  to,"  he  warmly  insisted.  "We 
don't  have  to  be  such  sticklers  in  regard  to  a  big 
thing  like  that.  We  '11  ask  everybody  and  make 
no  hard  feelings  anywhere." 

"We  would  better  not  give  the  first,"  sug- 
gested Matilda,  fearing  her  father  might  wish 
to  make  the  venture.  "  In  a  month  or  two,  in- 
vitations will  begin  to  arrive.  It  would  be  nice 
to  wait  until  one  or  two  receptions  have  been 
given." 

"  I  don't  mind  waiting,"  said  he.  "  Your 
idea,  Tildy,  of  waiting  to  see  how  other  folks 
do  it  is  right,  as  usual.  But  the  affair,  I'm 
going  to  give  has  got  to  be  a  splendiferous  blow- 
out! The  best  caterers,  best  musicians,  best  of 
everything  the  city  can  offer.  James,  our  but- 
ler here,  says  he  knows  just  how  the  thing  ought 
to  be  done.  I  'm  going  to  let  him  have  his  own 

[125] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

way  in  all  except  one  thing  —  no  liquors;  no 
champagne.  I  'm  not  going  to  let  any  respect- 
able young  fellows  go  from  my  house  drunk! 
Fruit  punch  colored  with  grape  juice  galore, 
but  nothing  stronger;  that's  all  they'll  have  to 
drink.  O.K.,  is  it?" 

"  Most  certainly,  it  is,  father;  mother  and  I 
shouldn't  think  of  wanting  anything  of  which 
you  disapproved.  We  shall  be  satisfied  with 
whatever  plans  you  make,  won't  we,  mother?" 

"Surely,  my  dear,  surely,"  replied  the  gentle 
Mrs.  Dolliver,  who  seldom  raised  a  dissenting 
voice. 

"  Then  that 's  another  thing  settled,"  and  Ario 
took  up  his  evening  paper. 

The  first  October  days  opened  with  a  whirl 
of  social  excitement.  Invitations  arrived  for 
two  introductory  receptions  a  week  apart.  Mr. 
Dolliver  was  enchanted.  At  the  dinner  table 
that  same  evening  he  issued  this  proclamation: 

"  One  coming  out  party  for  October  the 
twenty-eighth,  another  for  November  the  fourth. 
We'll  have  the  third  one!  James,"  addressing 

[126] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  butler,  "it's  up  to  you  for  the  feast,  illu- 
minations, the  flowers,  everything  that 's  wanted. 
Ladies,"  turning  to  his  wife  and  daughter,  "  you 
will  attend  to  the  invitations  no  later  than  to- 
morrow, and  also  to  your  toilettes.  I  will  see  to 
the  orchestra  and  —  the  bills!"  At  which  he 
laughed  heartily  to  evince  the  great  satisfaction 
he  took  in  doing  so. 

The  Dolliver  affair  was  one  of  ttye  great  social 
events  of  that  Winter.  According  to  Mr.  Dol- 
liver's  wish,  they  had  invited  "everybody,"  and 
judging  from  the  long  file  of  elegant  motor-cars, 
limousines,  and  handsomely  groomed  equipages 
that  extended  up  and  down  the  avenue,  every- 
body had  accepted. 

Ario  Dolliver  had  chosen  a  most  propitious 
time,  the  latter  part  of  November,  when  the  social 
life  of  any  large  city  is  just  newly  awakened 
from  its  somnolent  Summer,  and  ready  to  enjoy 
itself  with  keen  enthusiasm.  It  was  a  magnificent 
and  dignified  social  function  where  entertainment 
was  provided  for  all.  The  house  was  brilliantly 
illuminated  from  the  vast  reception-rooms  below 

[  127] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  the  dancing  hall  above,  where  the  famous 
orchestra  played.  A  ceaseless  procession  of 
richly  attired  guests  passed  up  and  down  the 
broad  stairways  whose  railings  were  entwined 
with  garlands  of  sweetly  scented  blossoms. 

"  The  gods  are  with  him  in  all  he  undertakes! " 
exclaimed  Benedict,  as  he  stepped  out  upon  one 
of  the  wide  verandas  to  breath  the  cool  air,  and 
beheld  a  full  November  moon  flooding  the  gar- 
dens below. 

He  had  come  with  the  two  elder  Hadley  sisters, 
Edith  being  escorted  by  Dr.  Rasburn,  Helene 
Doyle  and  her  mother,  by  an  old  friend  of  her 
father's,  visiting  them  at  the  time.  So  he  had 
made  a  martyr  of  himself,  as  Edith  said,  and  was 
playing  the  gallant  to  her  elder  sisters. 

He  was  promenading  with  Lucy,  but  talking 
of  Matilda.  Mrs.  Doyle  and  Helene  who,  with 
Edith  Hadley,  had  been  in  the  reception  line, 
he  had  run  across  several  times.  But  with 
Matilda,  Benedict  had  not  yet  had  a  chance  to 
talk,  although  the  line  had  been  broken  an  hour 
or  two  before. 

[128] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

She  was,  of  course,  the  centre  of  attraction. 
Simply  but  exquisitely  gowned,  he  thought 
he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  well.  Sur- 
rounded by  such  a  multitude,  it  was  difficult  to 
have  access  to  one  in  such  demand.  He  had  made 
the  effort  repeatedly,  but  unsuccessfully.  Fi- 
nally, as  Edith  and  Rasburn  were  on  their  way 
to  the  ball-room,  he  caught  sight  of  her  going  in 
the  same  direction  on  some  one  else's  arm. 

"  There,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  ought  to  have 
been  there  to  get  the  first  dance!"  and  he  accele- 
rated his  steps.  Once  in  the  ball-room  his  op- 
portunities were  larger.  He  danced  once  around 
with  Edith,  then  busied  himself  securing  part- 
ners for  her  and  Rasburn,  after  which  he  made  a 
straight  cut  for  the  place  where  Matilda  and  her 
escort  were  sitting.  She  greeted  him  with  a 
smile  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  the  evening?  I 
have  n't  once  seen  you." 

'  Trying  to  get  to  your  side  and  —  failing," 
he  replied,  smiling.  "  Let  me  have  your  card,  if 
you  please.  You  are  not  going  to  let  this  duffer 

[129] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

fill  up  your  whole  programme  —  anyhow,  not  as 
long  as  I  can  write  my  name."  The  duffer  pro- 
tested ;  but  Travis  had  his  way. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  the  fair  debutante.  "  I 
will  reserve  one  or  two  for  you." 

"  This  next  schottish  then?  I  like  the  Caledon- 
ian movement,"  he  went  on,  coolly  striking  off 
three  or  four  more  numbers. 

"  That  is  altogether  too  many,"  she  objected, 
examining  her  card.  "How  can  you  spare  so 
many  dances  from  your  legation  of — of  sisters? 
Where  are  the  Hadleys,  and  Helene?" 

"  Edith  is  over  yonder  with  Dr.  Rasburn,  but 
flirting  with  the  Grey  boys.  Look!  Observe 
how  the  scowl  with  which  they  regard  one  another 
changes  to  a  fatuous  grin  when  they  turn  to 
her.  .  .  .  Helene  is  still  down-stairs  with 
her  mother  and  an  old  friend  of  her  father's  —  a 
poetic  theologian  with  whom  Sophie  is  having 
the  time  of  her  life.  And"  —  looking  intently 
into  her  eyes  —  "  I  am  here." 

Matilda's  lids  fluttered  and  drooped,  the  color 
rose  in  her  cheeks.  "  Where  is  Lucy  ? "  she  asked. 

[ISO] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  I  left  her  with  them;  she  seemed  to  be  enjoy- 
ing herself." 

"Truant!" 

"  I  wanted  to  be  with  you.  A  fellow  can't  be 
expected  to  devote  all  his  time  to  his  —  sisters." 

Matilda's  laugh  erased  her  temporary  discom- 
posure; she  laughed,  not  especially  at  what  he 
had  said,  but  from  sheer  abundance  of  happiness. 
His  ardor  was  too  ridiculous  at  such,  a  time. 

"  Helene  should  be  up  here,"  said  the  girl.  "  I 
love  to  see  her  dance  or  stand  or  —  oh,  do  any- 
thing. She  always  makes  me  think  of  a  Corin- 
thian column  standing  silent  in  the  pallid  light  of 
a  midnight  moon." 

"  Manifestly,"  Travis  laughed,  "  she  is  an 
inspiration  to  poetic  flights.  But  she  is  not  danc- 
ing this  evening;  she  seems  preoccupied  with  her 
mother." 

The  music  was  striking  up  once  more.  "  This 
is  our  dance,"  he  reminded  her  in  a  whisper. 
Taking  her  hand  into  his  without  giving  her  an 
opportunity  to  reply,  they  went  flitting  over  the 
polished  floor,  as  light  as  thistle-down.  Many 

[131] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

eyes  watched  them ;  many  voices  commented  upon 
their  fine  appearance  together.  When  the 
schottish  was  ended,  Matilda  said  to  him, 

"  Try  to  gather  our  crowd  so  that  we  may  all 
go  to  supper  together.  It  will  be  such  fun!" 

"  This  is  all  the  fun  I  want,"  declared  Travis, 
guiding  her  slowly  toward  their  seats. 

Her  eyes  flashed  him  a  swift  look  of  inquiry, 
and  dropped  before  his  ardent  gaze. 

"  It 's  a  pleasure  that  will  soon  pall,"  she 
laughed  nervously.  "Besides,  I  must  distribute 
the  favors  of  my  card,  Mr.  Travis." 

"Not  too  lavishly,"  he  promptly  objected. 
He  was  not  inclined  to  give  her  up  just  yet. 
"Anyhow,  we  have  two  more  numbers  before 
supper." 

'  Yes,"  she  acquiesced,  nodding  archly  to  him 
as  she  floated  away  with  another  cavalier. 

Glowing  in  his  exaltation,  Benedict  crossed  the 
ball-room,  instinctively  dodging  the  whirling 
couples  of  whom  he  was  for  the  time  being  obli- 
vious. Presently  he  sought  Edith,  but  she,  too, 
had  flown  away,  —  with  Rasburn,  an  eager 

[132] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

waltzer.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  glad  of 
the  chance  to  muse  a  while ;  but  seeing  him  alone 
Edith  came  over  to  say, 

'What,   not   exhausted   so   soon!"   in  mock 
wonder. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  Then,  why  are  you  not  dancing?  You  look 
contented  —  happy.  There  are  a  number  of 
unengaged  damsels  across  the  way."/ 

"  I  would  rather  wait  for  you,"  he  returned. 

"  So  sweet  of  you, "  laughed  Edith,  com- 
posedly. 

"  Only  two  more  waltzes  after  this,  mind,  then 
the  banquet.  Make  the  most  of  them." 

"But  you  are  engaged  to  Matilda  for  those," 
she  flashed  at  him,  and  danced  off  again. 

"  Why  add  the  '  for  those  '  ? "  he  asked  him- 
self, smiling.  "  Engaged!  I  wish  I  were!  " 

Another  waltz,  and  he  is  gliding  around  with 
Matilda  in  his  arms.  Again  the  fascination  of  it 
seems  to  demand  an  endless  protraction  of  the 
pleasure  that  stops  all  too  soon.  He  leaves  her, 
now,  to  await  the  next  climax.  He  circles  the 

[133] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

hall  twice  with  Edith,  but  it  is  not  the  same.  He 
watches  her  as  they  pass  each  other  now  and  then, 
and  feels  that  he  can  never  enjoy  dancing  with 
any  other  woman. 

At  length  the  last  waltz  tunes  up.  He  has 
worked  himself  into  a  perfect  fever  of  desire. 
He  crosses  the  hall  to  claim  her;  but  she  is  com- 
ing toward  him  with  Angela  Atwood. 

"  Mr.  Travis,  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me  for 
this  number,"  she  says,  with  no  sign  of  regret. 
"  I  must  go  into  the  conservatory  with  Angela. 
I  will  join  you  later  at  the  supper  table." 

Travis  does  not  like  this  at  all;  the  light  in  his 
face  immediately  gives  away  to  gloom.  He  has 
always  entertained  a  dislike  for  the  Atwood 
girls.  Why  should  one  of  them  come  now  to 
cross  his  pleasure? 

"D !"  The  expletive  is  clipped  off  be- 
tween his  set  teeth,  which  come  savagely  together. 

But  he  conquers  a  feeling  so  foreign  to  his 
nature,  and  gratifies  Edith  by  dancing  the  last 
waltz  with  her.  As  soon  as  it  is  over,  he  hastens 
to  the  supper  room.  He  wishes  to  lose  no  time 

[184] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

in  getting  the  clique  together.  He  will  keep  his 
promise  to  Matilda.  He  seeks  Helene  and  Mrs. 
Doyle.  They  are  still  in  the  company  of  the 
Hadley  girls.  Sophie  is  discoursing  volubly  to 
the  mature  theologian.  Helene  notes  the  anxious, 
searching  look  in  Benedict's  eyes;  he  is  not  like 
his  own  free,  happy  self. 

She  rose  and  came  to  him,  and  he  felt  the  relief 

of  her  nearness. 

f 

"Are  we  going  now?"  she  asked. 

"ISTo,  no;  I  came  down  to  wait  for  Matilda. 
She  wants  us  all  to  go  to  supper  together." 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"  She  has  gone  to  the  conservatory  with  Angela 
Atwood."  His  tone  revealed  the  desertion,  and 
Helene's  smile  taunted  him. 

The  party  that  were  there  followed  him  to  the 
dining-room.  He  wished  to  secure  a  place  from 
which  he  could  observe  the  conservatory  door. 
He  wanted  to  draw  Matilda  into  their  circle  and 
exclude  the  Atwood  element,  if  possible. 

In  the  ball-room  Angela  Atwood  had  suffered 
a  mishap.  Some  one  had  stepped  upon  the  train 

[135] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

of  her  gown,  and  she  had  appealed  to  Matilda. 
The  latter  felt  it  encumbent  upon  her  to  assist  in 
repairing  the  damage.  She  supplied  herself  from 
her  room  with  the  necessaries,  and  the  two  young 
women  betook  themselves  to  the  now  deserted 
conservatory  to  adjust  matters.  While  there 
they  fell  into  a  conversation,  greatly  aggravating 
Benedict's  watchful  expectancy. 

"  I  am  so  very  glad  of  this  occasion  to  tell  you, 
Matilda,  how  pleased  we  all  are  with  your  recep- 
tion. It  is  a  glorious  success ! " 

"I  am  happy  to  know  you  approve  of  it," 
returned  the  young  hostess  with  a  gracious  smile, 
as  she  gathered  up  the  tattered  shreds  of  her 
guest's  train  and  fastened  them  together. 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  your  planning?  It  does 
you  credit." 

"Not  at  all,"  corrected  Matilda.  "Father 
planned  and  managed  the  whole  affair." 

"Indeed?" 

'Yes;  my  father,  you  know,  excels  in  carry- 
ing out  successfully  what  he  undertakes." 

"Well,  he  has  certainly  succeeded  in  this. 
[136] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

But,  my  dear,  I  want  to  confide  something  to  you. 
It  is  for  the  present  a  secret!"  Angela  lowered 
her  voice  and  came  very  near  Matilda.  "  Maud 
and  I  are  giving  our  introductory  reception  next 
month,  shortly  before  Christmas,  and  we  are  to 
have  a  young  French  nobleman;  the  Due  de 
Beauchamps,  who  arrives  in  December  to  pass 
the  holidays  with  the  Del  Bondios.  They  are  dis- 
tantly related,  you  know." 

Angela  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  this  an- 
nouncement. She  thought :  "  This  must  surely 
abase  the  Dolliver  lustre  to  mere  mediocrity." 

"That  is  charming!"  said  Matilda,  genuinely 
pleased.  "A  real  French  nobleman!" 

The  toilet  was,  by  this  time,  in  order,  and  they 
both  came  out  of  the  conservatory.  Benedict 
went  forward  and  the  young  ladies  separated; 
Matilda  to  join  the  party  at  the  supper  table, 
Angela  to  the  ball-room  to  finish  her  dance,  and 
thinking  to  herself  all  the  while:  "  I  wonder  if 
you  will  meet  him.  Not  if  Maud  and  Mother 
can  prevent  it !  " 

The  festivities  were  lasting  into  the  small  hours 
[137] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

of  morning.  No  one  seemed  disposed  to  break 
the  sociability  of  the  banqueting  table.  Here 
the  disgruntled  Benedict  quite  recovered  his 
equanimity  of  spirit.  He  talked  incessantly  to 
Matilda,  as  if  making  up  for  time  lost.  He  made 
inroads  into  the  delicacies  and  declared  he  had 
never  tasted  such  good  punch.  He  was  in  an 
exhilaration  of  heart  and  mind  which  showed  no 
sign  of  desisting. 

At  three  o'clock,  Mrs.  Doyle  and  the  older 
members  of  their  party  began  to  fear  that  day- 
break would  surprise  them.  They  dispersed  to 
the  various  dressing  rooms,  and  were  soon  re- 
assembled in  the  lower  hall.  Benedict  was  again 
talking  to  Matilda.  She  followed  them,  listening 
and  smiling,  as  far  as  the  entrance  landing.  As 
she  stood  there  beneath  the  lights,  bowing  her 
adieux  to  these,  her  chosen  friends,  there  were 
others  besides  Benedict  who  felt  that  they  were 
taking  away  in  their  memory  the  picture  of  a 
gracious,  adorable  woman. 


[138] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  HADLEYS  ALSO  ANTICIPATE 

"And,  as  the  Cock  crew,  those  who  stood  before, 
The  Tavern  shouted  — '  Open  now  the  door! 

You  know  how  little  while  we  have  to  stay, 
And,  once  departed,  may  return  no  more.'" 

A  WEEK  later  the  Dolliver  family  received 
cards  to  the  Atwood  ball.  Matilda  ex- 
haled a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  exultation  when 
hers  was  brought  to  her.  Since  her  conversation 
with  Angela  she  had  experienced  a  slight  feeling 
of  disquiet  which,  however,  her  better  judgment 
persistently  dispelled.  The  arrival  of  the  card 
restored  to  her  that  well-poised  attitude  of  assur- 
ance which  had  placed  her  at  the  head  of  all  the 
young  debutantes. 

Mr.  Dolliver  was  exceedingly  gratified. 
"  Looky  here,  Emmy,  here 's  ours.    *  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ario  Emerson  Dolliver.'    Don't  that  look 

[139] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

grand?  I  tell  you  what,  Mrs.  D.,  you're  some- 
thing of  a  debutante  yourself.  Right  in  the  swim, 
going  to  parties  and  balls,  just  like  the  young 
folks."  Mr.  Dolliver  beamed,  as  he  summed  it 
up  by  adding,  "And  it's  all  Matildy's  doings." 

"  Not  entirely  mine,  father,"  said  the  dutiful 
daughter.  "  You  are  too  modest.  You  forget 
that  you  are  the  prime  factor  in  every  success  I 
may  have  achieved." 

"But  'twas  you  that  dropped  the  first  hint," 
combatted  her  father,  with  inflating  satisfaction. 

"  You  would  have  come  to  it  in  time.  I  only 
hastened  the  consummation." 

Mrs.  Dolliver's  eyes  were  glistening;  her 
whole  face  expressed  the  pride  and  joy  she  felt 
at  Matilda's  approbation  of  her  father. 

"  You  are  right,  daughter,  we  owe  everything 
to  him." 

Mr.  Dolliver  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"What  more  do  you  women  folks  want?  A 
new  gown  for  the  coming  ball?  Jewels?  Any- 
thing to  fill  your  heart's  desire?" 

"  Since    you    propose    it,    father,"    Matilda 
[140] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

laughed,  "  I  think  I  would  like  a  new  gown  for 
the  occasion.  The  Atwoods  entertain  so  very 
largely.  There  will  be  some  great  people  at  their 
ball." 

"Why,  sure,"  agreed  Mr.  Dolliver,  perfectly 
elated  at  the  suggestion.  '  That  gown  you  wore 
to  our  reception  was  mighty  neat  and  becoming; 
but  it  was  still  a  school-girl's  dress.  You  must 
have  a  ball-room  costume,  and  a  necklace;  I  '11 
'tend  to  the  latter.  I  want  you  to  be  the  queen  — 
not  of  the  huckleberry-bush,  as  I  used  to  tell  your 
ma  she  was,  but  the  queen  of  the  ball !  " 

Matilda  had  kept  Angela's  secret.  She  had 
not  revealed  the  fact  to  her  father  that  a  young 
duke  was  to  be  present.  But  she  had  inwardly 
determined  to  attire  herself  in  chaste  but  regal 
splendor.  Her  father's  offer  of  a  necklace  was 
most  welcome.  Thus  equipped  she  thought  she 
might  venture  to  meet  the  Due  de  Beauchamps. 

When  Mr.  Dolliver's  selection  came  home  a 
few  days  later,  it  was  a  beautiful  stream  of  dia- 
monds. Matilda's  face  glowed  with  pleasure. 

"  Try  it  on,  Matildy,  see  how  you  look  in  it," 
[141] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

urged  her  father,  as  he  fastened  the  brilliant 
gems  around  her  neck.  "  My !  but  you  do  look 
stunning  in  'em.  There's  nothing  like  genuine 
diamonds  to  set  off  a  lady's  toilette,  by  Gum! 
Your  eyes  shine  just  like  'em  now.  Only  they 
are  black  diamonds ! " 

Mrs.  Dolliver  was  thoughtfully  contemplating 
her  daughter. 

"  If  it  is  going  to  be  such  a  tremendous  affair," 
she  said,  tremulously,  "  I  think  I  won't  try  to  go, 
Matilda.  It  makes  my  eyes  blur,  and  my  heart 
beat  so.  I  would  rather  stay  home  and  think 
how  it 's  all  going  to  be  while  I  sit  up  for  you." 

Matilda  came  near  her  mother. 

"Do  not  feel  that  you  must  go  to  all  these 
assemblies,  mother  dear;  I  do  not  wish  my  life  of 
gaiety  to  weary  you." 

"  It  does  n't,  my  dear.  I  love  to  have  you  go 
as  it  is  right  you  should.  But  let  me  stay  and 
hear  about  it  afterwards.  You  are  sweetest  to 
me  at  home." 

The  lusty  master  of  the  house  felt  no  such 
pangs;  he  promised  to  be  Matilda's  escort. 

[142] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

'  You  won't  be  lonesome  that  evening,  Emmy, 
'Mandy'll  keep  you  company,  if  she  can  sit  up 
that  late!" 

"  No  one  need  keep  me  company.  I  will  have 
plenty  to  think  about.  I  shan't  be  lonesome; 
James  will  sit  up  in  the  hall  till  morning." 

"  And  I  '11  chaperon  Matildy  all  right.  I 
won't  promise  to  dance,  but  I  '11  take  a  wager  she 
won't  lack  for  partners.  That  young  man 
Travis  won't  let  you  do  that,  I  '11  be  bound ! " 

"  He  is  to  be  Helene's  escort  for  the  evening," 
said  Matilda,  without  the  slightest  concern. 

"  I  bet  he  '11  dance  the  most  with  you." 

Mr.  Dolliver  did  not  dream  how  nearly  his 
prognostics  for  the  great  Atwood  ball  would  meet 
fruition.  But,  as  Benedict  had  so  perfectly  ex- 
pressed it,  "  The  gods  were  with  him  in  all  he 
undertook." 

While  the  society  members  of  the  Dolliver 
family  were  joyfully  anticipating  the  coming 
event,  the  Atwood  ladies  were  in  a  fever  of  excite- 
ment, confusion,  and  discussion.  The  Dollivers, 
by  their  conciliatory  lavishness  with  invitations, 

[143] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

had  made  it  compulsory  for  them  to  return  the 
compliment. 

"  What  shall  we  do  about  the  Dollivers? "  said 
Maud,  with  a  contumelious  peevishness. 

"  That  was  certainly  a  very  genteel  affair  of 
theirs,"  said  Mrs.  Atwood;  "all  excepting  that 
'local  option'  element  of  his;  the  result,  I  pre- 
sume, of  his  long  residence  in  a  small  place  like 
Hackerstown." 

"  That  sort  of  thing  is  strained  in  a  function 
where  hundreds  of  people  are  concerned,"  ob- 
jected the  elder  Miss  Atwood.  Maud  and  her 
mother  had  surreptitiously  thought  that  Matilda's 
invitation  might  perhaps  be  suppressed,  by  an 
accidental  omission.  Such  mistakes  were  not  at 
all  uncommon  in  a  case  of  four  or  five  hundred 
guests.  But  Angela  had  won  the  day  by 
arguing: 

"  It  would  offend  too  many  of  our  intimate 
friends.  Some  persons  would  guess  your  subter- 
fuge. People  in  general,  would  say  that  we  were 
snobs !  For  there  are  some  old  residents  of  Balti- 
more who  still  remember  that  our  grandfather 

[144] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  a  shoe-tinker  in  a  small  town  of  Vermont, 
who  tapped  at  people's  run-down  heels  from  early 
morn  till  dewy  eve."  Angela  had  learned  that 
it  was  politic  not  to  score  Matilda,  and  being 
slightly  jealous  of  her  sister,  had  won  the  game 
by  saying  decisively:  "We  must  invite  them 
all."  But  Matilda's  poor  card  had  trembled  in 
the  balance  an  hour  or  two,  until  Angela  had  con- 
cluded her  speech.  The  Atwood  valet  called  for 
the  post,  and  all  the  invitations  departed  in 
unison. 

The  Dollivers'  acceptance  to  that  munificent 
affair  was  like  crossing  the  Rubicon.  The  die 
was  cast.  There  could  be  no  recalcitrating  move 
made. 

The  Hadley  girls  each  received  a  card,  and 
great  excitement  was  caused  thereby. 

"What  shall  we  wear?"  was  the  choral 
exclamation.  But  another  barrel  from  Minne- 
sota solved  the  problem  of  the  entire  outfit.  The 
three  girls  ripped  and  remodelled,  planned  and 
created  the  most  stunning  effects  out  of  its  con- 
tents. They  toiled  indefatigably  for  one  week; 

[145] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

all  was  in  readiness,  and  they  were  prepared  for 
the  great  ball. 

"Isn't  it  nice,  girls,  to  be  all  ready  so  long 
beforehand  ? "  said  Lucy,  who  was  responsible  for 
the  precaution. 

'  Yes,"  replied  Sophie  for  all.  "  Now,  we 
won't  have  to  break  our  necks  at  the  last  minute 
the  way  we  usually  do." 

"  I  may  make  a  few  slight  alterations  in  my 
toilette,"  digressed  Edith.  She  was  anticipating 
a  great  many  dances  with  young  Doctor  Elmer 
Rasburn,  to  whose  lot  it  fell  this  time  to  immo- 
late himself  on  the  sacrificial  altar,  by  conducting 
what  Mr.  Dolliver  called  the  "  whole  bunch  "  of 
Hadley  sisters. 

Unfortunately,  the  doctor  had  an  engagement 
for  the  forepart  of  that  evening ;  a  surgical  opera- 
tion that  would  keep  him  until  nearly  eleven. 
But  he  would  send  the  taxicab  for  them  at  half- 
past  nine,  and  meet  them  later  in  the  ball-room. 
Everything  was  arranged  and  settled,  and  the 
ball  was  just  two  weeks  ahead. 

In  the  meantime,  the  whole  city  was  stirred  by 
[146] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

a  notable  event.  The  Duke  of  Beauchamps  dis- 
embarked at  Baltimore  in  the  early  days  of 
December.  The  news  of  it  rippled  into  high 
social  circles  and  caused  feverish  anticipation. 
The  Atwood  limousine  puffed  up  to  the  Del 
Bondios'  several  times  a  day  and  puffed  back 
again.  A  constant  pressure  of  animation  and 
agitation  seemed  to  prevail  between  the  two 
houses. 

Edith,  a  trifle  enviously,  perhaps,  watched  the 
cars  rush  past  the  longitudinal  street  nearest 
them. 

"  Well,"  she  sighed,  turning  away,  "they  must 
be  having  great  doings  since  the  Duke's  arrival." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  waste  your  time 
watching  from  your  window  what  other  people 
are  doing,"  rebuffed  Sophie.  She  was  sitting  by 
the  open  fireplace  knitting  woollen  slippers  for  a 
Christmas  present. 

"  I  suspect  they  are  getting  ready  for  the  ball 
with  a  vengeance,"  Edith  continued,  heedless  of 
her  sister's  insinuation. 

"People,  when  they  assume  an  undertaking, 
[147] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

usually  are  interested  in  its  success,  aren't  they?" 
was  Sophie's  sapient  observation. 

"What  is  the  date?" 

"  December  twenty-first." 

Sophie  never  hesitated,  not  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  for  an  answer  to  any  question.  The 
readiness  of  her  tongue  was  equalled  only  by  the 
warmth  of  her  heart. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  Edith  promptly  contradicted. 
And  the  other  as  promptly  insisted : 

"It  is." 

"  Go  look  at  your  invitation  and  find  out  your 
mistake." 

"  Get  your  own;  I  don't  need  to  look.  I  know. 
Anyhow  I  'm  too  busy  finishing  these  slippers ; 
you  're  only  looking  out  the  window." 

Edith  disdainfully  wrinkled  her  nose. 

"By  the  number  of  slippers  you  make,"  she 
bitingly  remarked,  "  one  would  think  you  had  to 
keep  a  centipede  shod." 

"  Now,  Edith,"  without  the  slightest  pause  in 
her  work,  Sophie  resorted  to  wheedling,  "do  go 
up  and  find  out  —  that 's  a  dear.  It  won't  take 

[148] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

but  a  second,  and  I  do  so  want  to  know  pos- 
itively." And  in  a  fervent  aside:  "  Thank  good- 
ness, it  is  n't  a  centipede !  " 

"  I  know  it 's  the  nineteenth,"  Edith  flung 
across  her  shoulder,  stalking  stubbornly  from  the 
room  to  seek  the  invitation.  Her  seconds  were 
prolonged  into  minutes.  Sophie  at  last  grew 
impatient. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  down?"  she  called. 

"  I  can't  find  it,"  came  carolling  back  from  the 
upper  regions. 

"Well,  ninny,  get  mine." 

A  pause,  while  Edith  wondered  why  the  sug- 
gestion had  not  occurred  to  her. 

"Where  is  it?"  she  asked  at  last.  Her  voice 
had  a  muffled  sound,  as  if  she  spoke  from  the 
depths  of  trunk  or  dresser-drawer. 

"Heavens!"  Sophie  screamed.  "How  should 
I  know?" 

A  sudden  banging,  rattling  clatter  from  up- 
stairs not  only  announced  the  eagerness  of  Edith's 
search,  but  startled  another  scream  from  Sophie. 

"Edith!" 

[149] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

That  young  lady's  voice  was  next  heard  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Are  you  tearing  the  house  down?"  wailed 
Sophie. 

"No,  silly.  I  just  dumped  the  dresser- 
drawers  out  on  the  floor.  I  hoped  you  'd  remem- 
bered where  your  invitation  was." 

The  overhead  tumult  immediately  began  again 
with  renewed  vigor,  and  Sophie  despairingly 
cast  her  knitting  aside  and  took  a  hand  herself  in 
the  search. 

They  were  obliged  to  give  up  at  last,  for 
not  only  Edith's  invitation  had  disappeared  in 
some  darkly  unaccountable  manner,  but  neither 
Sophie's  nor  Lucy's  could  be  brought  to  light. 

"Where  is  Lucy?"  Edith  demanded,  panting 
from  her  exertions  and  dropping  heavily  into  the 
nearest  chair. 

Sophie  wiped  the  tiny  beads  of  perspiration 
from  her  brow  and  brushed  back  her  dampened, 
disordered  curls. 

"  Oh,  sakes  alive!  Where  did  she  go!  "  she  cried 
[150] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

in  perplexity.  Her  face  all  at  once  lightened. 
"Why,  come  to  think  of  it,  she  went  to  the 
Doyles'. " 

"  Well,"  Edith  announced,  with  a  resigned  air, 
"  we  '11  just  have  to  wait  until  she  comes  home. 
She  '11  know  where  hers  is,  that 's  certain.  .  .  . 
I  'm  pretty  sure,  though,  it 's  the  twenty-first." 

The  two  girls  resumed  their  occupation  am- 
icably. Edith  was  really  doing  something;  she 
was  reading  over  music,  a  task  that  permitted 
occasional  interruptions.  They  worked  silently 
for  two  or  three  hours;  yet  no  Lucy  appeared. 
It  was  growing  to  be  four  o'clock,  and  the  short 
winter  day  was  darkening. 

"Good  Peter!"  cried  Sophie,  looking  out  of 
the  window  in  her  turn  and  seeing  no  sign  of  her 
missing  sister,  "  I  hope  they  won't  keep  her  to 
dinner.  I  'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear,  and  don't  like 
picked  up  scraps  for  dinner." 

"Don't  fret  about  that,"  replied  Edith. 
"  There  is  not  much  danger  of  the  Doyles  ask- 
ing any  one  to  a  '  drop  in '  dinner,  like  that.  Mrs. 
Doyle  is  so  very  formal,  you  know.  She  holds 

[151] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

her  hand  out  to  you  as  if  it  were  a  ten-foot  pole, 
to  make  you  keep  your  distance." 

"  She  does  n't  do  that  with  me.  I  don't  see 
enough  of  her.  I  like  Helene  awfuly  well;  but 
I  don't  care  much  for  her  ma." 

Just  as  the  girls  rose  to  put  away  their  work 
there  was  a  sound  of  familiar  footsteps  on  the 
landing. 

"  That  is  Lucy,"  said  Edith,  running  to  open 
the  door. 

"What  in  the  world  have  you  been  doing?" 
demanded  Sophie. 

"Why,  nothing  but  visiting  with  Helene." 

"  First,  tell  us  the  correct  date  of  the  Atwood 
ball,"  continued  Sophie,  dancing  about  Lucy 
with  unseemly  eagerness. 

"  I  don't  recall  the  date.  But  what  is  all  this 
excitement  about?  Does  not  your  invitation 
tell?" 

"We  have  both  mislaid  ours.  We  can't  find 
them  anywhere." 

"I  felt  sure  you'd  know  where  yours  was," 
flattered  Sophie,  hopefully. 

[152] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Of  course,  I  know  where  it  is,"  affirmed 
Lucy.  "  Right  on  the  table  in  my  room  where  I 
keep  my  magazines  and  papers." 

"  Go  and  get  it,  that 's  a  dear,"  coaxed  Edith. 
:{ We  are  neither  of  us  sure  of  the  date." 

Lucy  went  to  her  room  with  absolute  confi- 
dence, and  the  two  other  girls  followed  her. 
"  What  has  become  of  it?  "  she  puzzled.  "  I  had 
it  right  here  under  those  magazines,  or  I  may 
have  slipped  it  in  the  bottom  one  for  safety,  —  I 
sometimes  do." 

"  Oh,  my  prophetic  soul! "  ejaculated  Sophie  in 
dire  dismay. 

"What  have  you  done  with  them?"  urged 
Lucy.  "  I  had  six  and  there  are  only  two  left!  " 

"  Methought  I  am  —  methought  I  was  —  man 
is  but  a  patched  fool  if  he  will  offer  to  say  what 
methought  I  am!"  began  Sophie,  moved  to 
Shakespearean  quotations  at  the  contemplation 
of  her  own  stupidity.  "What  did  I  do  with 
them?  Why,  I  gave  them  to  that  Salvation 
Army  man  who  collects  them  every  month  for 
their  Sunday-school." 

[153] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Now,  not  one  of  us  knows  the  date  of  the 
ball!"  Edith  broke  out  with  vexation.  "Three 
invitations  received  in  this  family  and  not  one  to 
refer  to  for  the  date!" 

"  And  we  are  requested  to  present  the  cards  at 
the  door!"  added  Lucy  to  enhance  the  general 
consternation. 

"Well,  I  never  did!"  Sophie  moaned,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair  with  weary  exhaustion. 

"And  I  hope  you  never  will  again!"  returned 
Edith. 

"  Now,  girls,  let  us  talk  sensibly  about  the 
matter.  Which  of  you  is  the  surest  of  the  date? " 
demanded  Lucy. 

"  I  'm  very  positive  that  it  is  after  the  twen- 
tieth, so  I  think  it's  the  twenty-first,"  declared 
Sophie,  with  unshaken  conviction. 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  nineteenth,  but  I  won't 
insist  upon  it  since  I  'm  not  sure,"  said  Edith, 
with  uncommon  meekness. 

"If  the  day  between  was  anything  but  Sun- 
day, I  would  say  the  twentieth,  if  only  to  split 
the  difference,"  suggested  Lucy.  "  But  as  it  is, 

[154] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

we  will  decide  on  Sophie's  date,  the  twenty-first. 
She  is  the  oldest  and  ought  to  have  the  choice. 
Now,  do  remember  the  date,  one  of  you,  and 
write  it  out  on  something  in  the  hall  so  that  we 
can't  possibly  forget  it." 

The  two  other  girls  relied  implicitly  on  Lucy's 
practical  good  sense,  and  were  satisfied.  So  the 
matter  was  settled.  The  appointed  day  arrived. 
The  Hadley  girls  were  the  whole  day  getting 
ready  for  the  ball.  When  seven  o'clock  came  the 
dinner  was  over  and  everything  of  a  servile  or 
domestic  nature  was  put  out  of  the  way.  Only 
one  thing  was  now  left  before  them;  the  brilliant, 
dazzling,  intoxicating  scene  of  the  ball!  Lucy 
advised  that  each  one  take  a  nap  from  half -past 
seven  to  half -past  eight  in  order  to  refresh  her- 
self for  the  evening,  and  all  complied  with 
unusual  docility.  They  set  the  alarm  clock 
beforehand  lest  they  might  fall  into  the  nightly 
habit  of  prolonging  sleep.  They  must  waken  in 
plenty  of  time  to  dress  for  the  ball. 

At  half -after  nine  they  began  to  look  for  the 
taxicab.  They  were  all  ready.  The  hour  waxed 

[155] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  nine  forty-five,  and  still  the  conveyance  had 
not  arrived. 

"Perhaps  some  one  would  better  'phone;  it 
may  have  slipped  Elmer's  mind.  You  know,  he 
had  a  serious  case  on  hand  for  to-night,"  was 
Lucy's  thoughtful  advice. 

Edith  was  occupied  in  adjusting  her  head- 
gear, therefore  Sophie  called  up  the  garage 
office. 

"  Have  you  an  order  for  a  cab  to  call  at  No. 
205  Park  Avenue?" 

"Just  one  minute,  please." 

Sophie  tapped  the  floor  nervously  with  her 
foot  as  she  sat  waiting. 

"  Hello." 

"  No,  madam,  there  is  no  order  for  No.  205 
Park  Avenue." 

'  Why,  that 's  very  strange !  It  must  have  been 
forgotten!  Please  send  out  one,  immediately." 

"  At  once,  madam,"  was  the  reply. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  were  puffing  toward 
the  Atwood  mansion.  It  was  some  distance  away, 

[156] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

so  they  had  ample  time  to  discuss  their  prospec- 
tive movements  upon  arriving. 

"  It  is  'way  after  ten,  now,  but  Elmer  said  he 
could  n't  possibly  be  there  till  half -past.  It  is  no 
matter ;  we  will  get  on  all  right,"  planned  Edith. 
"  I  know  a  number  of  the  boys  who  are  to  usher, 
and  they  will  escort  us  in  with  proper  form." 

When  they  reached  the  scene  of  festivities, 
they  noticed  that  the  lower  rooms  alone  were 
lighted. 

"That's  mighty  queer,"  uttered  Sophie,  as 
they  ascended  the  marble  steps. 

"  Perhaps  we  are  too  early,"  suggested  Lucy. 
"  Sometimes  people  give  a  dinner  before  the  ball." 

They  were  obliged  to  press  the  electric  button, 
as  the  huge  batten  doors  were  inhospitably  closed. 
"A  very  strange  approach  to  a  ball!"  Sophie 
went  on  sputtering. 

At  last  the  magnificent  butler  opened  the  door. 
They  entered  and  all  stood  in  the  broad  vestibule, 
looking  at  each  other  in  a  blank  sort  of  way. 
Finally  the  butler  said,  holding  out  his  tray, 

[157] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

'Your  cards,  if  you  please.'* 

"We  haven't  got  them,"  replied  Sophie, 
"We've  —  " 

"  We  forgot  them,"  interrupted  Edith,  hastily. 
"If  you  will  ask  Miss  Angela  to  come,  I  will 
explain  to  her." 

"  Miss  Angela  is  at  the  present  moment  dining 
with  a  party  of  friends  invited  for  the  evening. 
Will  the  ladies  step  into  the  withdrawing  room 
and  await  them? " 

With  a  shocked  and  confused  look,  Edith 
asked, 

"  Is  not  this  the  evening  of  the  ball? " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  no,  miss.  The  ball  is  on 
the  twenty-third." 

Mentally  speaking,  Sophie  uttered  a  shriek  of 
despair.  Actually,  she  merely  said: 

"  Oh,  we  must  have  mistaken  the  place.  We 
will  withdraw  altogether,"  and  they  rapidly 
descended.  The  butler  followed  them  down  sev- 
eral steps. 

"  Shall  I  'phone  for  your  carriage  to  conduct 
you  to  the  right  place? " 

[158] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Thank  you,  no ;  it  is  only  a  short  distance 
away.  We  will  walk." 

As  soon  as  they  got  beyond  his  hearing,  the 
chorus  began. 

"Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  lunatic  perform- 
ance ! "  drawled  Sophie. 

"  And  at  the  Atwoods',  too,  of  all  people!  I 
wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for  the  world  I 
Your  subterfuge,  Sophie,  was  lame,  halt,  and 
blind.  Angela  knows  there  is  no  other  ball  worth 
attending  to-night,  and  even  if  there  were,  we 
should  n't  be  going.  I  trust  the  conversation  will 
not  be  repeated  to  her!  She  knows  we  don't  go 
to  balls  more  than  once  in  a  coon's  age." 

"Well,  girls,  don't  let  us  get  too  warmed  up 
over  this  affair;  we  might  catch  cold,  this  breezy 
night.  Edith,  gather  your  cape  around  you  well. 
We  will  walk  to  the  next  corner  and  take  the 
trolley  home.  Then,  we  '11  go  to  sleep  and  forget 
all  about  it." 

The  two  girls  meekly  agreed  and  they  rode 
home  in  silence.  Each  one  felt  her  share  of  the 
reflex  action.  Sophie  thought: 

[159] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  I  wish  I  had  n't  told  that  fib  about  the  other 
place." 

Lucy's  anxiety  was: 

"  Now,  there  is  that  taxicab!  I  '11  have  to  pay 
for  it,  as  it  was  I  who  told  them  to  'phone  for  it." 

Edith's  hope  was: 

"  If  only  Elmer  does  n't  hear  of  it !  —  I  should 
be  mortified  to  ashes!" 

When  they  reached  home  and  separated  for  the 
night,  Sophie  said  consolingly: 

'  We  '11  try  it  again  on  the  twenty -third,  girls. 
Repetition  makes  perfection." 


[160] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  ATWOOD  BALL 

"  Look  to  the  blowing  Rose  about  us  — '  Lo, 
Laughing, '  she  says,  '  into  the  world  I  blow, 

At  once  the  silken  tassel  of  my  Purse 
Tear,  and  its  Treasure  on  the  Garden  throw.' ' 

AS  Matilda  had  said,  Mr.  Travis  was  to  be 
Helene  Doyle's  escort  on  that  occasion, 
and  according  to  Mr.  Dolliver's  prophecy,  Bene- 
dict was  to  dance  oftenest  with  her.  Mrs.  Doyle 
was  in  a  very  delicate  and  irritable  humor  that 
evening.  She  had  not  been  well  since  the  Dolliver 
banquet,  and  was  making  a  great  sacrifice  of  her 
personal  inclination  by  accompanying  Helene. 
She  did  not  mention  the  fact  that  her  suspicious 
curiosity  made  it  imperative  for  her  to  be  there. 

Upon  entering  the  ball-room,  Benedict's  eyes 
instituted  an  expectant  search  for  Matilda.  Her 
father's  car  had  just  been  leaving  when  he  and 

[161] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

his  party  had  arrived;  he  knew,  therefore,  that 
she  was  in  the  ball-room  which  was  filling  rapidly. 
Disappointed  at  first  in  his  efforts  to  locate  her, 
he  turned  his  attentions  to  Helene  in  order  to  talk 
about  Matilda.  His  eyes  were  still  searching  the 
crowd,  as  he  halted  in  front  of  Helene. 

"Surely  you  are  going  to  dance?"  he  said, 
earnestly  surveying  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  doubtingly.  "  I  almost  fear 
to  leave  mother,  she  is  so  unwell  —  " 

"  Stuff!"  Benedict  broke  in,  with  man's  lofty 
contempt  for  feminine  weakness  and  irresolution. 
"  If  she  was  well  enough  to  venture  here  to-night, 
she's  well  enough  to  spare  you  as  often  as  you 
care  to  dance.  There  are  lots  of  nice  fellows  here ; 
you'll  not  want  for  partners." 

The  girl's  sole  answer  was  her  faint,  cryptic 
smile. 

"Anyhow,"  Benedict  rattled  on  with  boyish 
ardor,  "let's  move  over  to  the  entrance.  You 
girls  always  enjoy  keeping  tab  on  who  comes  and 
who  stays  away.  Wonder  if  the  Duke's 
arrived?" 

[162] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Again  his  eyes  eagerly  scanned  the  throng; 
but  he  was  not  looking  for  Monsieur  le  due. 

"No,"  quietly  replied  Helene,  "the  Del 
Bondio  party  has  not  yet  arrived.  You  know 
what  a  stickler  for  the  formalities  Mr.  Del 
Bondio  is.  If  you  saw  him  talking  to  any  beauti- 
ful lady  —  Matilda,  for  instance  —  " 

"Or  you  —  " 

She  smiled  again  and  tapped  his  arm  lightly 
with  her  fan. 

"  —  you  would  think  he  was  Talleyrand  con- 
versing with  Mme.  Recamier,"  she  finished 
composedly. 

"  Helene! "  His  happy  face  tried  to  assume  a 
pained  expression.  '  That 's  a  poor  comparison 
to  come  from  you;  it  makes  me  think  of  some 
kind  of  smelly  face-powder  instead  of  Mr.  D-B., 
striking  a  pose." 

"Well,  then,"  she  retorted,  "it's  not  so  bad 
after  all." 

But  her  nice  irony  was  lost  upon  her  compan- 
ion. She  realized  that  she  had  his  attention  only 
intermittently.  His  eyes  returned  from  another 

[163] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

eager  scrutiny  of  the  assembled  guests,  but  at 
once  they  brightened  and  smiled  back  into  hers. 

"I  suppose,"  he  spoke  derisively,  "that  the 
feminine  contingent  would  be  horribly  disap- 
pointed if  D-B.'s  Duke  failed  to  show  up  to- 
night. For  my  part  I  should  not  care  much. 
What  chance  have  the  rest  of  us  poor  chaps  in  — 
I  was  about  to  say  in  the  presence  of  royalty, 
but  a  Duke  's  as  bad." 

"  But  this  one,  I  believe,  is  a  good  Duke. 
There,"  with  sudden  animation,  "  turn  your  gaze 
in  the  opposite  direction  and  you  will  behold  your 
dazzling  luminary." 

Travis  stared  hard  at  his  beautiful  companion. 

"  Huh ! "  he  said  bluntly  in  a  moment.  "  How 
did  you  know  whom  —  that  I  was  looking  for  any 
particular  individual? " 

"Benedict!  Hurry!"  There  was  a  trace  of 
excitement  in  the  usually  tranquil  girl's  de- 
meanor. "Hurry — before  the  crowd  eclipses 
her!" 

He  obeyed.  He  caught  sight  of  Matilda  in 
her  marvellous  costume,  radiant  under  the  bril- 

[164] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

liant  lights.    And  then,  alas !  not  she  but  Helene 
was  eclipsed  —  from  his  thoughts. 

'You  will  excuse  me  just  a  moment,  won't 
you,  Helene?"  He  was  somewhat  confused. 
"  I  must  see  her  —  before  the  music  begins,  you 
know." 

The  sudden  awkwardness  which  seized  her 
erstwhile  cavalier  was  so  foreign  to  his  customary 
ease  and  grace  of  bearing  that  Helene  Doyle  re- 
garded him  in  mild  surprise.  But  then  the  occult 
smile  again  stirred  her  lips,  and  all  emotion  was 
veiled. 

"  Surely,"  she  murmured,  her  eyes  downcast. 
"  And  you  are  under  no  obligation  to  return, 
since  I  am  not  dancing." 

The  look  of  gratitude  that  leaped  to  his  frank 
eyes  was  doubtless  involuntary,  but  Helene 
caught  it  in  a  swift  upward  glance.  An  instant 
later,  when  she  heard  her  mother's  voice  at  her 
ear,  he  was  crossing  the  hall  with  more  haste  than 
dignity.  Her  thoughts  and  feelings  were  still 
submerged  in  the  phantom  of  a  smile. 

"  You  were  foolish,  Helene,"  Mrs.  Doyle  com- 
[166] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

plained,  "to  call  his  attention  to  her.  You  are 
always  so  impolitic." 

"Why  try  to  keep  him  here,"  said  the  girl, 
calmly,  "since  I  must  disappoint  him?" 

"Disappoint  him?"  echoed  Mrs.  Doyle.  "I 
am  not  sure  that  I  understand  you." 

The  girl,  however,  was  abruptly  saved  from 
becoming  more  explicit. 

"  Behold,  mother,"  she  announced,  "  there 
comes  his  grace,  the  Duke." 

Mrs.  Doyle's  attention  was  diverted.  The 
other  chaperons  were  likewise  trying  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  his  highness.  The  At  wood  ladies  were 
smiling  nervously. 

Mrs.  Atwood,  who  was  an  obese  little  woman, 
always  gave  one  the  impression  of  being  filled 
with  highly  colored  sawdust;  hard  and  prickly, 
she  was,  as  irresponsive  as  a  horse-hair  sofa. 
To-night,  she  was  bubbling  over  with  impor- 
tance. The  desire  to  shine  and  please  was  un- 
comfortably evident;  in  the  tight  twist  of  her 
hair,  the  studied  folds  of  her  dress,  the  artificial 

[166] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

bloom  of  her  cheeks,  she  was  painfully  good- 
looking. 

Monsieur  le  Due  de  Beauchamps  was  creating 
a  tremendous  sensation  among  these  unknown 
foreigners  by  his  genial  courtesy,  his  gracious 
and  cordial  manner.  This  was  all  perfectly 
natural  to  him,  owing  to  the  accomplished  and 
valiant  gentlemen  of  whose  superlatively  rare 
class  he  was  the  scion.  A  youth  of  barely  twenty- 
two,  yet  a  powerful  figure  upon  whom  the  eyes 
of  the  multitude  were  riveted.  He  spoke  in 
absolutely  perfect  English  to  those  surround- 
ing him.  Miss  Maud  and  Miss  Angela  were 
among  them.  His  phrases,  couched  in  that 
exquisite  delicacy  peculiar  to  the  French,  brought 
waves  of  delight  to  their  expectant  ears.  There 
was  a  murmur  of  solicitude  outside  the  favored 
circle.  Would  he  confine  his  regards  only  to 
a  few?  No;  he  began  to  observe  the  whole 
assembly.  Being  tall  he  could  command  the 
brilliant  scene  to  perfection,  and  it  was  enough 
to  enthuse  almost  any  young  man  of  the  world. 

[167] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

He  watched  the  fair  ladies  in  their  bewildering 
toilettes  and  his  eyes  spoke  admiration. 

At  the  same  moment  Matilda  Dolliver  was 
crossing  the  dancing-hall  upon  Benedict  Tra vis's 
arm.  The  Duke  abruptly  halted. 

"Who  is  that  young  lady?"  he  asked.  The 
sudden  checking  of  their  leisurely  progress,  the 
unwonted  fervor  in  his  tone,  made  Angela  look 
quickly  up  at  him.  Following  his  gaze,  she  too 
beheld  the  couple. 

"  Oh,  that  girl.  She  is  the  daughter  of 
one  of  Baltimore's  leading  merchants  and 
manufacturers." 

The  lack  of  warmth  in  the  reply  caused  De 
Beauchamps  to  glance  curiously  at  his  compan- 
ion. A  slight  ironical  smile  twitched  his  lips. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  moving  forward  again.  And 
Angela,  thinking  that  her  response  had  dashed 
his  interest,  ventured  further: 

"  Scarcely  of  an  equal  station  with  your  grace." 

"Doubtless  you  are  correct,"  with  a  dry  cour- 
tesy that  escaped  the  girl.  "  The  aristocracy  of 
industry  is  far  more  ennobling  to  a  man's  char- 

[168] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

acter  than  a  life  of  idleness,  indolence,  and  lux- 
ury. Believe  me,  I  am  a  toiler,  both  with  my 
hands  and  such  brains  as  God  has  given  me." 

Angela  so  far  forgot  herself  that  she  stared  at 
the  Duke  in  surprise;  but  she  was  quick-witted 
enough  to  realize  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  in 
her  estimation  of  the  young  nobleman.  She  at 
once  recovered  herself. 

"Judged  by  such  a  standard,"  she  said 
promptly,  "then  Matilda  should  be  at  least  a 
princess." 

"  Then  pray  do  me  the  honor  of  presenting  me 
to  your  princess." 

Angela  bit  her  lip  in  chagrin,  but  she  could  not 
refuse,  and  a  few  seconds  later  the  Duke  was 
bowing  low  over  Matilda's  hand. 

'Your  highness,"  said  he,  with  a  twinkle, 
"you  bear  my  favorite  of  all  French  names  — 
Mathilde." 

For  once  all  the  careful  attention  and  training 
bestowed  upon  her  by  the  Misses  Pettingill  went 
down  in  shipwreck  under  the  wave  of  confusion 
that  swept  over  her. 

[169] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"But  —  highness,"  she  stammered,  rosy  red  to 
her  coiffure.  "I  —  I  don't  under — "  She  be- 
came all  at  once  speechless,  staring  distressedly 
from  one  to  another,  while  Travis  regarded  the 
Duke  haughtily. 

The  nobleman  was  quick  to  discern  her  embar- 
rassment and  as  quick  to  relieve  it. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  at  once  grave.  "  I  was 
but  furthering  a  bit  of  jesting  information 
just  now  imparted  to  me  by  Mademoiselle  At- 
wood." 

Before  he  could  proceed  f urther  Matilda  looked 
to  Angela  for  an  explanation.  That  young  lady 
was  now  wretchedly  embarrassed  herself;  she  was 
placed  in  the  unenviable  predicament  of  either 
giving  a  verbatim  report  of  the  conversation 
between  herself  and  the  Duke,  or  else  courting 
his  disapprobation  by  a  lack  of  candor.  The 
young  man  appeared  to  realize  —  and  enjoy  — 
the  situation. 

At  last  Angela  floundered  through  some  sort 
of  explanation  and  hastened  away.  The  incident 
was  closed. 

[170] 


THE    SMILE    OF.    THE    SPHINX 

"You  speak  our  language,  perhaps?"  De 
Beauchamps  asked. 

"  I  do,"  returned  Matilda,  her  color  heighten- 
ing again. 

Monsieur  de  Beauchamps  immediately  opened 
up  a  rapid-fire  of  exclamations  expressive  of  both 
delight  and  surprise  at  the  discovery.  During  a 
full  half -hour  they  conversed  with  that  vivacity 
which  only  the  French  know. 

Verily,  the  Misses  Pettingill  were  this  night 
apotheosized. 

Travis  sat  moodily  near  the  two  young  people, 
though  with  a  growing,  depressing  conviction 
that  he  was  not  one  of  them.  He  formed 
the  hypotheneuse  of  a  triangle  that  was  self- 
sufficient  as  a  straight  line.  Matilda,  he  reflected 
with  some  bitterness,  might  be  in  very  truth  a 
princess,  De  Beauchamps  a  courtier  in  temporary 
high  favor,  while  every  other  man  in  the  hall 
was  a  humble  vassal  not  only  willing  but  eager 
to  do  her  slightest  bidding. 

Duke?  —  faugh!  The  fellow  made  him  sick; 
he  was  like  all  the  rest  of  them :  a  rake,  a  spend- 

[171] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

thrift,  everything  despicable.  He  was  only 
after  Matilda's  money,  or  that  of  the  next 
innocent  who  crossed  his  path,  who  could  boast 
a  bigger  bank-account. 

But  as  he  watched  the  young  nobleman's 
frank,  animated  countenance  these  reflections 
were  neither  convincing  nor  consoling.  His  own 
face  was  heavy  with  gloom,  his  heart  depressed; 
he  was  banished,  already  an  exile. 

Quite  disregardful  of  the  fact  that  he  was  on 
her  card  for  the  first  dance,  he  all  at  once  rose 
and  flung  himself  into  the  joyous  throng,  pain- 
fully conscious  that  his  departure  had  been 
unnoticed  and  that  Matilda  was  giving  her  hand 
to  the  Duke  for  the  first  number,  oblivious  that 
it  was  by  right  his. 

His  —  right  ?  What  right  had  a  trusted  friend 
against  this  interloper  with  a  title,  this  blue- 
blooded  adventurer  ?  Women  were  merciless,  cruel 
creatures !  All  except  Helene.  Ah,  yes,  Helene. 
She  was  an  exception,  was  Helene;  one  who 
would  never  disregard  the  obligations  of  friend- 
ship under  the  fascination  of  an  unknown  in- 

[172] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

truder  to  their  charmed  circle,  be  he  a  duke  or 
even  a  reigning  sovereign. 

With  a  sudden  sense  of  guilt,  he  reflected 
that  he  had  treated  Helene  rather  shabbily  to- 
night. Well,  he  had  been  amply  punished;  he 
would  go  hunt  her  up  and  try  to  make  amends 
—  or,  at  least,  this  praiseworthy  determination 
was  his  interpretation  of  the  great  yearning  for 
sympathy  which  burned  in  his  bosom. 

In  the  meantime  others  were  rapidly  follow- 
ing Matilda's  and  the  Duke's  example.  The 
animation  and  gaiety  rose.  Never  had  a  ball 
been  so  fraught  with  the  novelty  of  such  an 
experience  within  their  generation.  It  was 
something  unconscionable.  Matilda  Dolliver, 
handsome  though  she  was,  in  the  lead  of  all  of 
Baltimore's  society  belles! 

"I  never  saw  such  infatuation  on  the  part  of 
a  young  man!"  remarked  one  matron  who  had 
several  eligible  daughters.  "  One  would  think  he 
was  her  sworn  fiance" 

"It  is  due,  I  opine,  to  some  kind  of  mes- 
merism which  she  possesses,"  said  another.  "  The 

[173] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

father  uses  it  in  his  business  affairs.  The  luck 
that  man  has  is  stupendous!" 

"But  don't  you  admit  that  her  beauty  has 
something  to  do  with  it?"  ventured  a  third. 

"No;  I  don't  think  she  is  so  wonderfully 
pretty,"  retorted  the  mother  of  the  marriageable 
seven.  "  There  are  plenty  of  girls  in  Baltimore 
who  are  just  as  attractive  to  me.  It  is  quite 
incomprehensible." 

Now  at  this  stage  of  their  discussion  old 
Monsieur  Del  Bondio,  who  was  circulating 
among  the  elderly  spinsters  and  widows,  sat 
down  beside  these  prejudiced  matrons.  He  be- 
gan at  once  to  extol  the  young  couple ;  the  charms 
and  graces  of  the  young  demoiselle  with  whom 
his  distant  relative  was  dancing.  He  said  good- 
humoredly  that  the  boy  evinced  rare  good  taste. 
The  irritated  hearers  were  obliged  to  moderate 
their  opinions  considerably  in  order  to  meet  his 
superior  amiability  and  judgment. 

During  this  time,  Benedict  had  found  his  way 
back  to  Helene,  greatly  to  Mrs.  Doyle's  relief. 

;'You  might  as  well  dance  a  little,  daughter, 
[174] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

if  you  care  to.  I  will  be  very  comfortable  here 
with  Mr.  Del  Bondio  to  entertain  me."  For  the 
old  gentleman  had  moved  up  to  a  more  genial 
clime. 

Benedict  hailed  the  suggestion.  Slipping  an 
arm  about  Helene's  waist,  they  went  whirling 
amid  the  flock  of  happy  dancers.  Travis,  when 
his  eyes  met  the  fine  blue  ones,  wore  a  look  of 
exultant  triumph,  instead  of  one  of  dejection 
or  disappointment.  Helene  was  a  perfect 
dancer,  and  he  was  proud  to  pass  Matilda  and 
the  Duke  several  times  with  so  accomplished  a 
partner.  While  they  were  doing  a  slow,  grace- 
ful waltz  that  so  well  became  Helene's  classic 
figure,  she  said  to  him  in  her  usual  undertone, 

'  You  must  try  it  again  with  Matilda." 

Instantly  the  dark  look  once  more  shadowed 
his  face.  He  remained  silent. 

"  Surely,"  Helene  laughingly  pressed  him, 
"you  are  not  going  to  surrender  to  a  French- 
man, even  if  he  is  a  duke,  are  you?" 

He  glumly  replied,  "  It  is  not  a  question  of 
surrender." 

[175] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

And  Helene  said  no  more. 

Mrs.  Doyle  and  old  Mr.  Del  Bondio  were 
seated  side  by  side,  watching  the  two. 

"  How  well  they  look  together,"  said  the  lady. 
"Benedict  is  so  considerate  of  Helene;  his 
attentions  are  ideal." 

'  Yes,"  replied  the  chivalrous  old  man.  "  To- 
night, Miss  Dolliver  is  the  glowing  jewel;  but 
Helene  is  always  the  gleaming  pearl." 

At  length  they  sat  down  after  the  wholesome 
enjoyment  which  young  people  find  in  the 
exercise.  Benedict  stood  up  beside  Helene, 
fanning  her  with  brotherly  attention,  and  jest- 
ing with  a  forced  gaity  of  which  the  girl  was 
keenly  sensible.  He  did  not  go  near  Matilda 
the  rest  of  the  evening.  Mrs.  Doyle  thought  he 
really  ought  to  fetch  the  Duke  and  introduce 
him  to  Helene. 

"  She  speaks  French  quite  as  well,  if  not 
better  than  Matilda,"  she  suggested.  "  She 
might  make  as  good  an  impression  on  him." 

Benedict  declined  the  honor,  but  he  was  will- 
ing to  pass  it  over  to  Mr.  Del  Bondio,  who  was 

[176] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

charmed  with  such  a  piece  of  knight-errantry 
and  went  to  bring  Monsieur  de  Beauchamps 
where  the  ladies  were  sitting.  Then  he  departed 
to  busy  himself  with  finding  other  partners. 
He  waltzed  once  around  with  each  of  the 
Hadley  girls.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  pivot 
Angela  through  a  long  redowa,  in  fact,  disported 
himself  like  a  young  man  who  was  enjoying  the 
evening  mightily. 

When  the  hour  waned  far  past  twelve,  Mrs. 
Doyle  wished  to  retire  from  the  festive  scene  if 
Helene  had  enjoyed  sufficient  pleasure. 

"Certainly,  mother.  I  am  at  your  service 
whenever  you  are  ready." 

"At  once,  then,  for  my  head  is  beginning  to 
ache  with  all  this  light  and  noise." 

"  If  you  don't  care  to  go  to  the  supper,  may 
I  not  bring  some  light  refreshment  for  you  and 
Helene?  I  '11  find  a  waiter  immediately,"  offered 
Travis. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  not  even  that,  Benedict," 
replied  Mrs.  Doyle,  wearily.  "  Doctor  Rasburn 
has  cautioned  me  to  indulge  in  nothing  to-night." 

[177] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

They  went  to  the  dressing-room  to  be  en- 
veloped in  their  wraps,  while  Benedict  hurried 
down  to  have  his  taxicab  brought  to  the  door. 
When  once  they  were  all  seated,  he  leaned  over 
and  caught  Helene's  hand.  Mrs.  Doyle,  her 
head  pillowed  on  the  cushion,  was  peacefully 
dozing. 

"God  bless  you!"  he  whispered  fervently, 
looking  intently  into  her  eyes. 

"I  am  surprised  that  you  should  take  it  so 
hard,"  she  returned  half -mockingly,  yet  with  an 
undercurrent  of  genuine  sympathy  that  did  not 
elude  Travis. 

'  You  are  the  best  and  gentlest  of  friends, 
Helene;  I  shall  always  love  you.  I  know  that 
in  your  heart,  anyhow,  there  is  always  some 
concern  for  my  welfare.  My  dear,  dear  sister!" 

The  dim  light  only  partially  revealed  the 
masking  smile.  She  returned  the  pressure  of 
his  fingers  and  quickly  withdrew  her  hand. 

'You  know,  Benedict,"  she  said  steadily, 
"  that  you  always  have  my  sympathetic  interest. 
What  can  I  say  to  you  now?" 

[178] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Nothing.  But  I  feel  that  I  am  to  blame 
somewhere  for  something — an  act  of  omission, 
perhaps.  What  can  it  be?" 

"No,  no,"  she  returned,  still  speaking  low. 
"You  are  over- wrought ;  that  is  all.  You  will 
feel  right  about  it  in  the  morning.  Consider 
Matilda's  fondness  for  everything  French;  give 
her  time  to  adjust  herself  to  this  novel 
experience." 

"  The  glamour  of  a  title!"  bitterly  muttered 
the  young  fellow. 

"  I  think  so.  And  so  much  the  better :  it  can 
never  dazzle  her  again." 

"  It  never  would  have  caught  you,  Helene," 
he  said  earnestly.  ;<Why?  Why  are  you  so 
different?" 

This  time  she  laughed  outright  at  his  im- 
pulsiveness. 

"It  is  possible  that  I  am  not  so  different 
after  all,"  she  said.  "Maybe  you  will  find  it 
out  some  day." 

"Find  out?"  explosively.  "What  is  there  to 
find  out  about  you  that  I  don't  already  know? 

[179] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Fiddlesticks!  You're  the  rippingest  girl  a  fel- 
low ever  had  for  a  friend  —  a  sister;  I  need  know 
nothing  more;  that's  all  I  want  to  know." 

"Very  well,  then,"  Helene  announced  with 
abruptly  assumed  lightness;  "we  have  arrived  at 
the  last  word  —  good-night  —  and  home  at  the 
same  time." 

He  got  out  to  see  them  safely  in. 

Helene  waved  to  him  from  the  vestibule. 
"You  will  have  forgotten  all  about  it  by  to- 
morrow," she  cheerfully  affirmed. 

"  Good-night,"  was  all  he  said. 

He  walked  away  mentally  resolving  not  to 
forget  it,  and  turned  once  more  toward  the 
intoxicating  ball-room. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  Benedict  would 
have  gone  straight  to  his  own  apartment  after 
leaving  Helene  and  her  mother.  But  to-night 
there  was  one  insatiable  desire  to  look  again 
upon  the  scene  that  had  struck  his  heart  an 
excruciating  blow,  which  swung  his  indecision 
into  quick  action.  He  had,  up  to  that  time, 
looked  upon  Matilda  Dolliver  as  a  pleasing  but 

[180] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

remote  possibility.  But  when  he  recalled  that 
the  Duke  of  Beauchamps  had  appropriated 
Matilda  right  from  his  hands  to  promenade  the 
length  of  the  hall  upon  his  arm,  whereas  a 
moment  before  she  had  been  upon  his  own,  a 
feeling  as  akin  to  jealousy  as  he  had  ever  known 
gripped  his  steadfast  heart.  He  followed  her 
with  scorching  eyes.  He  took  no  notice  of  the 
crowd  around  him,  who,  like  him,  were  struck 
with  amazement  at  the  young  Duke's  rapid  and 
unconcealed  courtship. 

The  two  were  sitting  in  animated  conversa- 
tion after  dancing.  Benedict  waited  for  nearly 
two  hours,  trying  to  catch  her  eye,  to  see  if 
she  would  smile  a  recognition.  But  he  could 
not,  so  absorbed  was  she.  Just  as  he  was 
preparing  to  leave  with  his  desire  unfulfilled, 
the  Dolliver  car  whisked  up  to  the  entrance.  He 
stopped  and  stood  a  while  to  see  what  should 
happen. 

Presently,  Papa  Dolliver  appeared  and  nodded 
to  Benedict  with  an  air  of  extreme  satisfac- 
tion. He  seated  himself  comfortably  inside. 

[181] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Travis  was  moved  to  tarry  yet  longer,  urged  by 
the  tugging  at  his  heart  strings.  It  was  not 
long  before  Matilda  followed,  still  upon  the 
Duke's  arm. 

He  gave  her  his  hand  to  assist  her  in  enter- 
ing the  car,  and  continued  his  adieux  until  they 
were  fairly  out  of  sight. 

Benedict  told  an  attendant  to  call  his  cab.  It 
was  the  old  friend  who  waited  for  him  every 
morning  at  Cheltenham  Court. 

"  Whea'  abaout,  suh?  " 

Benedict  eyed  him  fiercely  and  muttered  in 
his  teeth: 

"To  the  devil!" 

"I  didn't  catch  that,  suh,"  said  the  darky, 
coming  nearer. 

"  Cheltenham  Court,  then,"  he  growled,  dis- 
appearing inside. 

"Mistah  Travis  am  in  a  mighty  po'  humor, 
this  mornin',"  cogitated  the  fellow,  starting  his 
honking  machine  with  vociferous  noises.  He 
was  surprised,  for  it  was  customary  with  the 
young  gentlemen  of  society  to  repair  to  their 

[182] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

clubs  after  such  entertainments  to  talk  over  the 
affair,  to  drink  more,  perhaps,  until  daybreak 
surprised  them  in  their  dress-suits.  Then  they 
would  retire  to  their  private  rooms  to  refresh 
themselves  with  a  few  hours'  sleep  and  exchange 
their  attire  for  a  more  presentable  morning-suit. 

Travis  was  not  a  club  member.  He  rarely 
frequented  such  places,  except  at  the  invitation 
of  some  friend. 

Having  been  brought  up  in  a  beautiful  coun- 
try home,  he  was  strictly  a  "home  body."  He 
preferred  to  spend  his  evenings  with  his  friends, 
the  Doyles,  the  Hadleys,  Matilda  Dolliver, 
where  he  found  a  different  entertainment,  to  be 
sure,  but  youth  loves  the  spiciness  of  variety. 

When  he  reached  his  rooms  at  the  Court  he 
went  to  bed  but  not  to  sleep.  His  habitually 
peaceful  mind  was  in  a  turmoil  of  agitation. 

What  was  this  feeling  which  had  so  suddenly 
overwhelmed  him  and  caused  him  to  act  in  a 
manner  unrecognizable  to  himself?  Was  he  in 
love  ?  The  thought  almost  made  him  laugh  from 
its  strangeness.  He  had  thought  himself  invul- 

[185] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

nerable.  Love  —  great,  absorbing,  all-embrac- 
ing —  that  stirred  the  souls  of  poets,  would  not 
come  to  him  till  middle  life.  The  hearts  of  the 
young  were  not  capable  of  nurturing  such  a  love. 
He  had  been  so  deeply  engrossed  in  his  profes- 
sion until  now;  his  social  distractions  were  but 
a  necessary  lever  to  preserve  the  wholesome 
equipoise  of  his  keen  active  mind.  What,  then, 
was  this  maelstrom  of  conflicting  emotions? 
Was  it  but  a  "  false  creation  of  the  heart-op- 
pressed brain"  that  had  swayed  Macbeth?  He 
would  try  to  sleep ;  that  balm  alone  could  restore 
his  natural  thoughts  and  enable  him  to  reason 
clearly  when  morning  came. 

While  Benedict  was  thus  employed,  Matilda, 
at  the  same  hour,  stood  alone  before  her  mirror 
in  all  the  splendor  of  her  ball  attire.  She  gazed 
at  herself;  there  was  no  trace  of  fatigue  in  her 
glistening  eyes,  for  their  light  was  derived  from 
the  inexhaustible  source  of  conquests  and  tri- 
umphal achievements  that  have  bathed  the  eyes 
of  human  beings  since  the  wrorld  began.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  realized  that  she 

[184] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  beautiful  and  that  her  beauty  was  her 
strongest  weapon.  She  felt  like  a  conqueror  who 
on  the  eve  of  battle  is  not  absolutely  sure  of 
success,  but  whose  hopefulness  is  unbounded. 
She  was  thinking  of  the  young  Duke,  of  his 
signalized  attentions,  his  obvious  preference,  and 
she  was  attracted  to  him  by  two  strong,  polemic 
forces,  —  his  nationality  and  his  rank. 

In  her  studies,  she  had  been  sedulous  but 
not  brilliant,  yet  that  evening,  in  conversing  with 
Monsieur  de  Beauchamps,  she  had  discovered 
herself  parrying  witticisms  with  him  and  coming 
out  victorious. 

There  is  something  surprising  in  the  very 
actions,  thoughts,  and  movements  of  a  person 
born  and  bred  in  an  environment  wholly  dif- 
ferent from  one's  own.  This,  combined  with  his 
exalted  station,  had  fixed  Matilda's  attention. 
The  mystery  and  triumph  of  it  all  held  her  spell- 
bound before  her  mirror  until  Mrs.  Dolliver's 
gentle  tap  at  her  door  warned  her  that  it  was 
nearly  morning. 

Then,  she,  too,  went  to  sleep  and  to  dream  — 
[185] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

a  vision  of  prophetic  intent.  She  was  mounted 
on  a  spirited  white  horse  and  stood  at  the  foot 
of  a  country  road  such  as  she  had  known  when 
a  girl.  It  was  a  cool,  attractive  road  edged  on 
either  side  with  tall  trees  whose  branches  over- 
head intertwined  in  soft  embrace.  It  led  up  a 
gently  sloping  hill  where  deep  mysterious  green- 
ness courted  desire.  A  feeling  of  something  like 
joy  impelled  her  to  pursue  the  ascent.  Once  she 
looked  back,  to  see  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  her 
mother  smiling  and  waving  farewell,  Edith, 
Helene,  Benedict,  —  her  old  associates  of  former 
days,  —  and  she  was  leaving  them  all  behind  with 
no  tinge  of  regret  in  her  heart;  the  mysterious 
clump  of  green,  arching  in  the  distance,  seemed 
to  hold  such  treasures  that  all  the  blessings  of 
her  past  life  were  by  it  obliterated. 


[186] 


CHAPTER  X 

BENEDICT   SUCCUMBS  TO   NATURE'S   FORCES 

"  A  Book  of  Verses  underneath  the  Bough, 
A  Jug  of  Wine,  a  Loaf  of  Bread  —  and  Thou 

Beside  me  singing  in  the  Wilderness  — 
Oh,  Wilderness  were  Paradise  enow!  " 

WHEN  Benedict  arose  the  next  morning, 
the  clear,  crisp,  matutinal  freshness  of 
a  day  in  late  December  should  have  prompted 
him  to  quick,  decisive  action.  Strange  to  say, 
unlike  his  usual  self,  he  was  still  swinging  in 
the  balance.  Like  Macbeth  he  "  had  no  spur  to 
prick  the  sides  of  his  intent."  His  poor  spurs 
had  been  so  blunted  by  the  rebuffs  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  that  the  inevitable  reaction  had  set 
in.  He  thought,  as  he  walked  the  distance  to 
his  office  with  vigorous  step:  "I  will  wait  — 
because  I  must." 

As  he  took  his  place  at  his  desk,  he  found  that 
[187] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  hours  of  sleep  and  the  brisk  walk  had  some- 
what allayed  the  fever  of  his  fantasy.  Yet  his 
mind  was  not  altogether  restored  to  its  normal 
assumption  of  irritating  facts.  In  spite  of 
efforts  to  the  contrary,  he  was  obsessed  with 
impressions  of  Matilda  and  the  Duke  forcing 
themselves  upon  his  carefully  prepared  judicial 
propositions.  They  blockaded  his  powers  of 
induction.  They  staggered  his  clinching  argu- 
ments. They  made  him  realize  that  there  were 
incidents  which,  sometimes,  caused  even  a  logi- 
cian's reason  to  totter  upon  its  lofty  throne.  It 
was  no  use ;  he  could  not  concentrate  his  faculties 
sufficiently  to  do  independent  work.  The  will, 
rising  superior  to  the  other  composite  divisions 
of  the  mind,  would  not  commingle  to  harmonize 
with  his  purpose.  He  must  subdue  it  by  merg- 
ing it  into  the  thoughts  of  the  great  men  who 
had  created  the  law.  He  pulled  down  one  of 
the  heavy  volumes  above  and  steeped  himself  in 
a  long,  profound  extract  from  the  works  of 
Richard  Hooker  upon  the  "  Necessity  and 
Majesty  of  the  Law." 

[188] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Benedict  was  very  earnest,  very  determined 
to  let  no  trivial  circumstance  impede  his  ascent 
in  the  dignified  profession  which  he  had  chosen. 
But  even  in  this  he  had  reckoned  without  his 
host.  He  had  not  thought  of  the  tremendous 
forces  of  nature  that  are  able  to  toss  a  man, 
especially  a  young  man,  far  out  of  his  instinctive 
ideas  of  duty;  that  make  him  bend,  yield,  and 
oscillate  like  a  bubble,  ere  he  regain  strength 
and  power  to  proceed  on  his  rightful  way. 

Travis  spent  the  entire  morning  at  his  task. 
Then,  by  some  trifling  occurrence,  his  memory 
was  jogged  to  the  recollection  that  it  was  the  day 
before  Christmas.  He  had  been  so  engrossed 
with  the  happenings  of  the  past  few  days  that 
the  nearness  of  the  festive  season  had  escaped 
him. 

'Ye  great   Olympian  gods!"  he   exclaimed. 
'  What  a  consummate  ass  I  have  been  to  forget 
everything  and  everybody!" 

He  closed  his  voluminous  book  with  a  resound- 
ing flop,  and  left  the  place,  saying  to  himself, 

"Now,  to  the  Court  to  feed  the  inner  man, 
[189] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

then,  to  the  first  bijoutiers,  and  other  shops  of 
the  city,  to  contend  with  the  army  of  belated 
buyers."  On  reaching  Cheltenham  Court  he 
hailed  Sambo,  his  favored  taxicabby,  and  told 
him  to  wait  just  a  minute  till  he  had  swallowed 
his  lunch. 

"We'll  put  for  the  city  all  afternoon;  but 
we'll  wind  up  at  Willow  Brook  where  we'll  be 
sure  of  a  good  square  meal." 

He  disappeared  a  few  moments,  leaving  the 
darky  on  the  steering  seat  grinning  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  good  feast.  When  Travis  had  finished 
his  meal,  they  both  spun  to  town  to  conclude  the 
necessary  shopping.  When  he  had  finished, 
having  remembered  every  one,  according  to  his 
custom,  he  said, 

"It  is  five  o'clock  and  dark  enough  to  play 
Santa  Claus  about  town." 

They  stopped  at  the  various  residences;  the 
Doyles',  and  the  Hadleys',  where  the  darky  left 
mysterious-looking  packages,  and  skipped  away. 
They  worked  up  to  the  Charles  Street  Avenue 
mansion,  depositing  there  something  for  Mrs.  and 

[190] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Miss  Dolliver.  The  Del  Bondio  equipage  was 
standing  in  the  porte-cochere,  so  Sambo  deliv- 
ered his  gifts  at  the  front  door,  where  Amanda 
received  them,  being  curiously  and  stealthily  on 
duty. 

Benedict  wondered  what  the  carriage  was 
doing  there.  Was  the  Duke  just  coming,  or 
going?  Never  mind,  he  would  drown  the  mem- 
ory of  his  insolence  by  scaling  to  the  front  seat 
beside  Sambo  to  face  the  wind  and  cold  on  their 
way  through  the  beautiful  Green  Spring  Valley 
—  green  even  in  the  winter,  owing  to  its  tall 
cypress  and  pine  trees  whose  branches  were 
fretting  the  new-fallen  snows. 

Willow  Brook  lay  in  the  heart  of  that  Green 
Spring  Valley,  with  hill  and  dale  beyond,  and 
the  bending  willows,  from  which  it  derived  its 
name,  shedding  their  icy  tears  of  mourning  upon 
the  frosty  stream  below.  Benedict  felt  that  its 
peaceful,  restful  solitude  would  balm  his  per- 
turbed spirit  as  nothing  else  could.  The  house, 
surmounted  by  its  snow-thatched  roof,  looked  a 
warm  and  cordial  welcome  from  within.  Both 

[191] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Major  and  Mrs.  Travis  had  heard  the  honking 
warning  of  his  emissary,  and  were  at  the  open 
door  to  receive  him. 

"Bully  for  you,  Diet,  my  boy!"  said  his 
father. 

"  My  son,  my  son ! "  and  Mrs.  Travis  held  him 
in  a  motherly  embrace. 

It  was  always  so  when  he  came  home.  His 
presence  was  the  crowning  point  of  all  their 
days  of  merrymaking.  The  adulations  and 
compliments  poured  in  from  all  sides. 

"What,  another  Christmas  and  no  fianp 'allies 
to  make  gay  the  festal  board! "  said  the  Major 
jocundly.  "How  is  that,  Benedict?  I  thought 
you'd  bring  home  some  fair  damsel  with  you 
this  year,  on  approbation." 

"  Not  yet,  father,"  the  young  man  sought,  by 
an  affected  lightness,  to  turn  a  topic  which,  now, 
was  far  from  agreeable.  "  Life  is  too  serious 
with  me  to  indulge  in  such  frivolities." 

"  Let  him  be  a  boy,  our  own  boy,  as  long  as 
he  will,  say  I !  "  was  Mrs.  Travis's  imploration. 

"  That 's  right,"  readily  agreed  the  Major, 
[192] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

always  falling  in  with  his  wife's  views.  "  Stick  to 
business,  my  boy ;  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines ; 
that's  what  your  forefathers  all  did.  There  is 
always  plenty  of  time  for  a  fellow  like  you  to 
spend  at  love-making." 

The  sensible  construction  his  father  put  upon 
his  own  words,  struck  him  a  little  incongruously, 
set  beside  his  actions  of  the  night  before. 

After  dinner  they  all  sat  around  the  blazing 
log  fire  with  their  feet  upon  the  big  bear  rug 
on  which  he  had  romped  as  a  child.  He  told 
them  all  about  his  work,  his  hopes,  and  ambitions 
for  the  future.  He  told  modestly  of  his  rising 
successes  in  his  profession;  but  failed  to  volun- 
teer one  word  about  his  social  diversions.  His 
almost  studied  avoidance  of  the  subject  caused 
his  father  to  introduce  it. 

"How  are  Helene  and  Mrs.  Doyle?"  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  Helene  is  all  right,"  was  the  indifferent 
reply;  "she  can't  be  otherwise.  I  can't  say  as 
much  for  Mrs.  Doyle;  she  is  always  ailing." 

Mrs.  Travis  murmured  sympathetically. 
[193] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"How  unfortunate,"  she  said.  "I  am  very 
sorry  for  Helene." 

But  the  Major  blindly  persisted.  "Where  is 
your  enthusiasm  for  the  fair  Miss  Dolliver  whom 
you  used  to  extol  so  highly?  And  her  father  — 
has  he  still  the  Midas  touch?" 

"  Mr.  Dolliver  still  pursues  his  monumental 
climb  of  the  financial  ladder." 

Mrs.  Travis  noted  his  ignoring  of  half  of  the 
question,  and  the  intuition  of  her  mother's  heart 
immediately  seized  upon  a  meaning  in  the  son's 
silences.  Although  she  was  troubled,  she  real- 
ized how  unpleasant  must  be  to  Benedict  their 
effort  to  force  his  confidence.  She  knew  his 
sensitive  nature;  if  she  read  aright  the  cause  of 
his  reticence,  she  knew  that  their  inquisitiveness 
was  making  him  inwardly  cringe.  So  she  play- 
fully chided  her  husband  into  talking  of  incon- 
sequentials. 

"Can't  you  see  that  Benedict  is  tired,  my 
dear  ? "  she  gently  pointed  out.  "  He- would  much 
rather  sit  comfortably  with  us  and  listen  to  what 
we  have  to  say.  Retire  whenever  you  feel  like 

[194] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

it,  my  son;  you  must  suffer  nothing  that  may 
mar  the  enjoyment  of  your  visit." 

He  was  very  grateful,  and  in  a  little  while 
retired. 

Although  he  was  in  truth  very  weary,  before 
going  to  bed,  he  gazed  a  moment  at  the  glowing 
firmament  from  the  window  of  his  boyhood  days. 
In  the  glittering  stars,  he  saw  reflected  only 
Matilda's  eyes;  and  those  stars  did  not  leave  him 
till  their  mirrored  reality  had  been  dispelled  by 
the  morning  light. 

He  spent  Christmas  and  the  day  following  at 
home,  that  benign  spot  which  had  ever  proved 
a  Lethe  to  his  youthful  woes!  In  spite  of  his 
mother's  fond  insistence  to  prolong  his  visit,  the 
stress  and  pressure  of  city  life,  at  this  especial 
season,  lured  him  thither.  So  soon  did  he  feel 
the  surfeit  of  those  two  days  of  rest  and  calm. 
He  longed  for  the  surging  billows  of  the  life 
that  had  first  taught  his  heart  to  suffer.  Such 
is  the  madness  of  youth.  It  is  willing  to  ex- 
change the  ways  of  peace  and  oblivion  for  the 
raging  sea  without,  often  to  find  itself  sub- 

[195] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

merged  by  its  overwhelming  breakers !  Benedict 
returned  to  the  city,  to  that  complex  life  of 
strenuous  labor,  and  its  counter-weight  of  social 
distractions  which  had  tortured  his  heart. 

One  morning,  on  his  way  to  the  office,  he 
stopped  at  the  Doyles'.  He  lingered  a  moment 
to  glean  a  little  of  Helene's  beneficial  advice. 

"  This  life  of  protracted  dissipation  is  too 
much  for  you,  Benedict,  you  look  a  little  hag- 
gard, this  morning,"  she  said. 

"Haggard?"  resented  Travis,  "I  don't  feel 
haggard  —  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  What 
makes  you  think  it?" 

'You  cannot  fool  me,  Benedict  Travis;  your 
assumption  of  indifference  betrays  the  effort.  I 
could  not  help  noticing  you  at  the  theatre,  last 
night." 

"I  know  what  you  refer  to;  but  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  I  should  be  perfectly  contented  to 
let  things  remain  as  they  are,  if  it  wasn't  for 
that  coquin  of  a  Frenchman  who  comes  to  spoil 
all  our  fun!"  He  smiled  quizzically  at  her. 
"Ministering  Angel,  what  is  your  counsel?" 
[196] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"My  advice  to  you,"  she  said,  with  prim 
severity,  "  is  that  if  you  care  so  much  for  Matilda, 
you  declare  yourself  to  her,  and  thus  establish 
your  true  position." 

'You  see,"  Helene  pursued,  "you  are  too 
much  of  a  dilettante" 

"It's  not  that.  It  is  that  when  I  am  with 
you,  Helene,  I  think  more  calmly,  more  con- 
secutively. Let  me  consider  a  moment." 

She  smiled  at  him  kindly.  "It  is  right  and 
just  that  you  should;  I  claim  no  jurisdiction 
over  you." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  if  you  did.  I  have  given 
you  every  cause  to  exercise  it.  You  are  my 
veritable  Mentor;  it  is  for  me  to  be  a  faithful 
Telemachus.  I  will  do  as  you  propose.  I  will 
see  Matilda  before  many  days."  He  rose  to  go 
and  held  out  his  hand.  She  took  it  and  gave  it 
an  added  pressure  of  encouragement  as  she  said, 

"  Plead  your  cause  well.  You  are  able  to  do 
it.  You  ought  to  win  in  that  as  in  everything 
else." 

She  followed  him  to  the  door,  the  mystical 
[197] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

smile  still  upon  her  lips,  until  he  was  far  down 
the  street.  Then  she  closed  it  to  shut  out  the  too 
glaring  light  of  day. 

Benedict  continued  his  way  to  the  office, 
moulding  and  remoulding  these  thoughts :  Helene 
is  always  a  good  counsellor.  She  knows 
Matilda's  preferences;  they  have  been  daily 
friends  for  so  long!  She  advises  me  to  plead 
my  cause.  She  thinks  I  ought  to  win. 

Five  months  ago,  the  thought  of  winning  Ma- 
tilda would  have  seemed  an  easy  goal.  But  now, 
the  advent  of  this  foreigner,  a  man  of  wealth, 
birth,  rank,  and  good  address,  was  threatening 
the  balance  of  power  among  other  suitors  in  that 
exclusive  circle  of  society. 

Benedict  was  not  nervous.  The  women  who 
had  been  his  friends  were  gifted  with  evenly 
balanced,  well-ordered  minds.  He  knew  not  the 
feeling  or  the  malady.  He  was  not  afraid;  he 
had  met  so  far  nothing  he  was  unable  to  con- 
quer. Then  why  did  his  resolution  stagger? 
He  had  never  spoken  of  love  to  any  woman. 
No  other  had  ever  stirred  the  embryonic  germ- 

[  198  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

ings  of  that  great  passion.  He  felt  he  must 
prepare  as  for  a  combat.  The  thought  of  facing 
Matilda  Dolliver  with  words  of  love  made  him 
grow  weak.  Yet  he  had  conjured  up  in  his  mind 
scores  of  endearing  terms  in  thinking  of  her. 
Would  his  ready  speech  fail  him  when  he  came 
to  touch  upon  a  subject  in  which  he  had  had  so 
little  practice? 

He  would  write  to  her  that  very  night,  beg- 
ging an  interview,  that  she,  at  least,  might  be 
prepared.  Their  relations  had  been  so  friendly, 
so  cordial,  yet  so  free  from  sentiment.  He  had 
never  been  able  to  guess  just  how  she  regarded 
him.  The  emotion  he  felt  in  his  heart  for  her 
had  expanded  only  that  night  of  the  ball,  when 
he  saw  another  claiming  the  privileges  which  he 
craved. 

His  proverbial  good  fortune  guided  him  even 
in  the  choice  of  time  for  his  interview.  One 
evening,  in  the  week  following  the  New  Year, 
had  accidentally  been  overlooked  by  the  pro- 
moters of  social  activity.  It  was  like  a  lull 
in  the  tempest;  and  Benedict's  heart  bounded 

[199] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

with  hope  when  he  received  a  dainty  billet,  bear- 
ing the  Dolliver  insignia,  granting  his  request. 
She  also  added  that  she  would  be  happy  to  see 
him,  as  there  was  nothing  afoot  for  that  evening. 

All  of  Benedict's  previous  trepidations  van- 
ished. Buoyant  with  the  thought  that  if 
Matilda  had  not  cared  for  him,  she  would  not 
have  acceded  so  readily  to  his  petition,  he 
mounted  the  steps  of  the  Charles  Street  Avenue 
mansion,  almost  sure  of  success.  The  house  was 
dimly  lighted  below  and  above  stairs,  as  it  was 
the  Dolliver  custom  to  do,  when  they  were  not 
expecting  a  large  company.  His  frugal  habits 
had  never  left  Ario,  even  though  he  had  grown 
to  be  a  very  rich  man.  In  large  projects  he  was 
inordinately  lavish.  In  the  lesser  ones,  he  ex- 
ercised thrift.  There  was  no  cause  for  a  display 
of  brilliant  lights  to-night.  Delicate  Mrs.  Dol- 
liver retired  early  to  rest  when  her  husband's 
presence  was  required  at  the  down-town  office. 
He  had  deemed  it  a  good  evening  to  absent  him- 
self. He  bade  his  wife  an  affectionate  good-bye. 

"  Go  to  bed  early,  Emmy  dear,  and  get  a  good 
[200] 


night's  rest.  You'll  have  nothing  to  keep  you 
waking.  Matilda  '11  be  entertaining  a  beau,  and 
I  '11  be  home  soon  after  ten." 

Benedict's  path  was,  therefore,  clear.  When 
he  was  ushered  into  what  Matilda  was  pleased 
to  call  the  petit  salon,  where  she  liked  best  to 
receive  her  intimates,  the  light  immediately 
blazed  up. 

"Turn  that  down  a  little,  will  you?"  he  said 
to  the  butler.  '  We  don't  want  broad  daylight 
in  here." 

The  man  complied,  with  a  knowing  smile, 
showing  he  understood  the  other's  mission.  In 
a  very  few  moments  Matilda  entered.  She  had 
been  waiting  for  him,  and  went  straight  to  him 
with  both  hands  extended. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  given  me  this  oppor- 
tunity to  —  explain  some  things  to  you!" 

He  had  taken  both  her  hands  and  was  still 
holding  the  right  one,  as  he  said, 

"  You  need  make  no  explanation  to  me, 
Matilda;  there  is  only  one  thing  I  wish  to  ask 

of  you." 

[201  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"You  are  always  so  generous,"  she  broke  in, 
"and  we  have  been  such  good  friends!  I  did 
not  want  to  think  I  had  disregarded  your  great 
courtesy,  that  evening.  I  hoped  to  make  com- 
pensation. But  you  did  not  once  come  near  me. 
I  feared  you  might  be  offended." 

"Never  with  you,"  he  made  reply,  as  they 
sat  down  side  by  side. 

"I  have  really  longed  to  see  you,  to  have  a 
talk  with  you.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  so  much  to 
tell  you  of  the  happenings  of  the  past  two  weeks. 
You  have  been  away?  You  received  my  note 
of  thanks  for  your  exquisite  remembrance?" 

'  Yes,  to  both,"  he  replied  smiling.  He  had 
never  seen  her  so  animated,  so  free  to  speak  of 
herself.  There  was  abandon  and  effusion  in  the 
manner  with  which  she  received  him. 

"  I  went  home  for  Christmas,  but  the  desire 
to  be  near  you  brought  me  back  to  Baltimore." 

"  You  are  not  only  generous,  but  kind.  I  felt 
as  if  I  must  talk  with  you.  I  know  no  one  else 
to  whom  I  can  open  my  thoughts  as  candidly 

as  I  can  to  you." 

[202] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

He  felt  the  complexity  of  her  meaning,  which 
threw  a  shadow  upon  his  ardor,  yet  he  said, 

"  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  confidence. 
What  is  it  you  have  to  tell  me?  Let  me  play  at 
being  your  confessor,  —  perhaps,  your  legal  ad- 
visor; I  will  try  to  excel  in  both  offices  to  serve 
you.5/ 

Matilda  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  con- 
tinued : 

"We  have  met  very  frequently  of  late." 

"Not  with  me?"  he  put  in. 

"  No;  I  was  speaking  of  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
champs.  Have  you  conversed  with  him  suffi- 
ciently to  form  an  opinion?" 

"  I  have  spoken  with  him  very  little.  Per- 
sonally, I  should  think  you  would  have  had  the 
best  opportunity  to  form  the  opinion  you  ask 
of  me;  but  I  will  say  frankly,  that  from  the 
standpoint  you  speak  of,  I  think  him  a  very 
attractive  young  man,  a  little  too  attractive  to 
suit  me." 

"Benedict!    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that,  using  your  own  words,  we 
[203] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

have  been  too  good  friends  for  me  to  stand  by 
and  see,  without  resenting  it,  a  foreigner,  duke 
though  he  is,  step  in  and  make  love  to  you." 

"  Love  is  entirely  out  of  the  question  with  me," 
said  Matilda.  "  I  know  not  the  word  or  the 
feeling,  save  for  the  love  I  bear  my  parents  and 
my  friends.  I  should  have  to  learn  to  love  the 
man  who  wished  to  marry  me.  That  was  one  of 
the  few  things  not  included  in  the  Pettingill 
curriculum,  the  kind  of  love  you  mean." 

"  Couldn't  you  learn  to  love  me,  Matilda?  — 
not  a  little,  but  a  great  deal.  I  want  as  much  as 
I  am  able  to  give." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  coyly  coquettish 
little  smile. 

"I  think  I  could;  but  I  do  not  want  to." 

"Matilda!"  exclaimed  Benedict,  in  an  agony 
of  spirit.  "  Don't  tell  me  you  have  no  heart ;  your 
face,  your  personality,  your  whole  attitude 
belies  it." 

"Indeed,  I  have  a  very  large  heart.  I  love 
many  people  dearly,  but  not  with  that  other  love ; 
the  greatest  and  best,  they  say  it  is!  At  this 

[204] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

point  of  my  career,  the  only  feeling  that  sur- 
mounts all  others  with  me,  is  the  achievement 
of  a  great  social  triumph.  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
champs  offers  me  this." 

"Have  you  accepted  him?"  gasped  Benedict. 

"Not  yet;  but  my  hand  has  been  asked." 

"Oh,  Matilda,"  pleaded  the  wounded  lover, 
"have  you  thought  of  the  consequences  of  an 
international  marriage  for  an  American  woman? " 

:<  The  difference  in  nationality  is  the  very 
thing  which  attracts  me  most,"  said  Matilda. 
"As  a  school  girl,  my  first  ambition  was  the 
study  of  French.  I  had  an  instinctive  desire  to 
perfect  myself  in  that  language,  in  order  that 
I  might  later  be  able  to  converse  fluently  with 
any  one  from  France.  I  have  no  fears  on  the 
point  of  congeniality,  nor  of  sordid  monetary 
aims.  Monsieur  de  Beauchamps  pere's  fortune, 
in  lands  and  collaterals,  exceeds  my  father's," 
Matilda  went  on  to  explain,  with  cool,  but 
smiling  calculation. 

Travis  was  on  the  point  of  suggesting  a  pos- 
sible lack  of  geniality  on  the  part  of  the  Duke 

[205] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

de  Beauchamps'  family;  but  refrained,  remem- 
bering how  Matilda  had  won  the  very  cream  of 
Baltimore  society  by  her  alluring  and  gracious 
manner.  There  is  something  very  good  in  the 
mother's  blood,  he  thought,  and  discarded  the 
De  Beauchamps  from  his  mind  in  order  to  attest 
the  Travis  loyalty  and  devotion. 

"What  you  say  is  all  perfectly  true;  but  take 
your  thoughts  away  from  transatlantic  con- 
siderations to  dwell  a  moment  on  the  relations 
that  have  existed  between  you  and  me  for  nearly 
four  years." 

Matilda  sat  a  while  in  mute  contemplation. 
There  was  no  trace  of  an  emotional  conflict  in 
her  heart,  only  a  momentary  indecision  of  the 
mind,  whether  the  glory  of  a  great  social 
triumph  outweighed  the  price  of  a  strong,  en- 
during love.  But  the  desire  of  youth,  coupled 
with  the  inherited  need  of  surpassing  others, 
clinched  Matilda's  decision. 

"It  seems  to  me,  now,  that  the  two  short 
weeks  I  have  known  Monsieur  de  Beauchamps 
embody  years  of  association,"  she  said,  in  that 

[206] 


'I  did  not  know,  I  did  not  think  you  cared  so  much" 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

quiet,  thoughtful  tone  that  was  like  a  cruel  blow 
demolishing  all  of  poor  Benedict's  hopes. 

"  Then,  you  do  not  love  me ;  you  do  not  want 
even  to  learn  to  love  me?"  he  asked,  with 
faltering  tones. 

She  lowered  her  head,  and  said,  penitently, 

"I  regret  that  I  cannot." 

Travis  walked  to  the  window  where,  lifting 
the  curtain,  he  saw  the  bright  stars  still  shining. 
His  heart  was  too  full  to  speak.  His  deep  sap- 
phire eyes  wore  a  look  of  wretched  suffering. 
Matilda  went  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  gently 
on  his  arm. 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry,  Benedict.  Please  be- 
lieve me  that  I  am  speaking  the  truth." 

He  turned  and  faced  her  again. 

"Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  to  alter  your 
decision,  before  it  is  too  late?  Oh,  Matilda,  I 
have  always  loved  you!  I  love  you  now,  so 
intensely,  so  passionately;  does  this  count  for 
nothing  with  you?" 

'You  have  been  generous  and  kind.  You 
will  be  good  enough  to  forgive  me.  You 

[207] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

will  always  hold  an  especial  place  in  my  affec- 
tions. Is  it  asking  too  much  of  you  to  be 
present  at  the  ceremony?  It  will  be  very  quiet. 
It  will  take  place  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
some  time  in  April." 

There  was  a  chair  near  the  window.  Benedict 
dropped  into  it  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  Matilda's  eyes,  regarding  his  deep  de- 
jection, glistened  with  tears.  She  dared  not 
offer  too  keen  sympathy. 

"  I  am  deeply  grieved  at  the  thought  of  giv- 
ing you  pain.  I  did  not  know,  I  did  not  think 
you  cared  so  much,"  she  said,  sorrowfully. 

Benedict  recovered  himself  and  rose.  "  It  is 
my  duty,  now,  to  ask  your  forgiveness,"  he  said, 
looking  down  into  her  moist  eyes.  "  I  did  not 
think  I  could  be  so  unmanned  even  by  so  great 
a  disappointment.  I  will  do  all  that  you  ask 
of  me.  To  do  your  wishes  in  anything  is  my  only 
compensation  while  you  still  remain  with  us." 

Matilda,  glad  to  see  the  return  of  his  frank, 
sweet  nature,  gave  him  her  hand  again  at  parting : 

"Think  kindly  of  me,"  she  said,  "you  have 
[208] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

/ 
so  strong  and  noble  a  heart.    I  will  always  hold 

you  and  Helene  as  my  best  and  truest  friends." 
Benedict  walked  out  once  more  into  the  starry 
night.  Its  beauty  held  no  more  sway  over  him. 
He  wanted  to  shroud  his  wounded  spirit  in  the 
more  merciful  darkness.  He  walked  to  the 
nearest  'phone  station  and  ordered  his  taxicab 
to  take  him  to  his  lodgings. 

Matilda  went  to  her  room  with  less  than  her 
usual  buoyancy  of  spirit.  She  thought  a  long 
time  before  she  fell  asleep,  feeling  that  she  had 
crushed  some  sacred  thing,  that  would  rise  again 
and  assert  itself  far  above  her  ruthless  tramplingc 


[209] 


CHAPTER  XI 

EFFECT   OF   MATILDA'S   VICTORY 

"  The  Worldly  Hope  men  set  their  Hearts  upon 
Turns  Ashes  —  or  it  prospers;   and  anon, 
Like  Snow  upon  the  Desert's  dusty  Face, 
Lighting  a  little  Hour  or  two  —  is  gone." 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Dolliver  were  the  first  to  be 
affected  by  the  sudden  turn  in  their 
daughter's  career.  The  all-powerful  head  of 
the  house  had  lent  himself  with  noble  effort  to 
the  winning  of  the  prize  for  Matilda.  He  had 
left  nothing  undone  that  an  able  father  could 
do.  He  had  even  held  himself  sufficiently  aloof, 
that  the  natural  disparities  of  manner  between  a 
duke  and  a  merchant  might  not  suggest  them- 
selves too  harshly.  Mr.  Dolliver  was  rilled  with 
sound  judgment.  He  weighed  and  considered 
every  point  of  a  possible  venture  with  the  keen 
perspicacity  which  had  raised  him,  step  by  step, 

[210] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  the  financial,  and  even  social  position  he  now 
enjoyed.  The  public,  knowing  him  well,  were 
unanimous  in  their  verdict  regarding  this  affair : 
"  He  is  more  than  a  magician,  he  is  a  genius !  " 
The  Del  Bondios'  equipage  which  was  wholly 
at  the  Due  de  Beauchamps'  disposal,  seemed  to 
have  transferred  its  interests  from  the  Atwood 
to  the  Dolliver  mansion.  The  two  homes  were 
in  constant  communication.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Del 
Bondio,  being  elderly,  though  highly  recherches 
members  of  society,  seldom  entertained  any  but 
small  companies.  Entirely  under  the  influence 
and  hospitable  consideration  of  their  young 
relative,  they  acquiesced  to  his  every  desire  that 
concerned  Miss  Dolliver.  He  wished  to  become 
closely  acquainted  with  this  young  woman, 
choosing  and  creating  every  possible  occasion  to 
further  his  purpose.  The  kind  Del  Bondios 
fortunately  had  been  prepossessed  with  Matilda 
from  her  very  first  entrance  into  Baltimore 
society.  Small  dinners  and  soirees  were  there- 
fore given  for  the  entertainment  of  Miss  Matilda 
and  her  near  friends;  Helene  Doyle,  Edith 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Hadley,  Benedict  Travis,  and  Dr.  Rasburn  were 
unvaryingly  of  the  number  chosen  to  form  the 
selected  company. 

Of  course,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dolliver  returned 
these  courtesies  for  their  daughter;  Ario  being 
rarely  in  evidence,  and  Mrs.  Dolliver  presiding 
with  gentle  dignity.  Thus,  the  friends  grew  into 
close  companionship.  Four  months  of  almost 
daily  intercourse  was  enough  to  cement  the 
relations  which  the  Due  de  Beauchamps  wished 
to  establish  with  Matilda.  It  was  little  more 
than  a  week  when  the  young  Duke  declared 
himself,  conditionally,  bien  entendu  upon  the 
satisfactory  result  of  the  relative  time  he  was 
to  be  in  the  city.  These  purposeful  amenities 
continued  four  weeks  before  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
champs  received  his  acceptance.  Matilda  had 
desired  the  interview  with  Benedict  Travis  be- 
fore framing  her  final  answer,  delaying  it  till  the 
end  of  February. 

During  this  time,  Benedict  was  enduring  a 
life  of  humane,  but  cruel  torture;  and  the 
miracle  of  it  was  that  he  enjoyed  it.  He  never 

[212] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

failed  to  put  in  an  appearance,  no  matter  what 
the  time,  day,  or  weather.  He  would  have 
deemed  it  an  act  of  cowardliness,  unworthy  of 
him,  to  have  absented  himself.  For  he  gloried 
in  his  martyrdom  like  the  saints  of  old  whose 
exalted  belief  told  them  their  sufferings  were 
but  the  ante-chamber  through  which  they  made 
a  speedy  entrance  into  Heaven. 

The  difference  between  the  two  men  from 
whom  Matilda  was  making  her  choice  was  not 
fundamentally  great.  A  duke,  or  earl,  or  prince 
derives  his  gentlemanliness  from  countless  gen- 
erations of  ancestors.  He  knows  no  other  life. 
From  the  beginning  he  has  been  taught  and 
trained  to  it.  But  a  man  like  Benedict  Travis 
draws  his  chivalry  and  courtesy  from  the  depths 
of  his  own  large  manhood,  itself  induced  from 
like  predecessors;  from  a  heart  actuated  only  by 
the  highest  and  noblest  impulses;  from  the  air 
and  soil  of  freedom  which  he  is  constantly 
breathing. 

Benedict  was  not  spending  his  days  in  chant- 
ing threnodies.  On  the  contrary  he  concealed 

[218] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  true  state  of  his  feelings  from  every  one, 
even  from  Helene  Doyle.  He  assumed,  better 
to  decoy  his  friends  and  his  fellows,  not  Helene's 
invincible,  inimitable  smile,  but  one  closely  re- 
sembling it.  When  these  two  met,  their  eyes 
looked  into  each  others'  and  understood.  He  had 
not  divulged  Matilda's  secret  to  her  or  any  one 
else;  but  she  knew  it.  Benedict's  eyes  were 
windows  through  which  his  very  soul  could  be 
seen. 

They  had  known  each  other  since  childhood. 
She  watched  his  thoughts  and  feelings  and  met 
them  in  advance.  She  had  learned  to  penetrate 
his  innermost  sensibilities.  The  smile  with  which 
she  perpetually  covered  her  own  strong,  impul- 
sive, emotional  nature  was  not  the  true  Smile  of 
the  Sphinx;  the  smile  that  is  unfathomable,  un- 
yielding of  the  cynical  acumen  with  which  it 
regards  the  flight  of  our  frail  human  lives. 
Helene's  smile  was  one  that  she  used  to  guard 
herself  from  trespassing  upon  the  claims  of 
others,  in  order  that  they  might  more  con- 
veniently and  shamelessly  disregard  her  own. 

[214] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

How  many  of  us,  in  this  gay,  joyous,  sometimes 
heartless  world,  wear  the  Sphinx's  smile  to 
shield  ourselves  and  our  woes  from  its  laughing 
eyes! 

Matilda  Dolliver  was  at  this  present  time  the 
symbolic  figure  of  that  laughing  world.  All  the 
witchery  of  young  womanhood  was  upon  her; 
that  soft  roundness  of  limb  and  feature,  the  ani- 
mated lustre  of  her  eyes,  the  cameo-mould  of  her 
throat,  the  fair,  delicate  texture  of  her  skin,  the 
graceful  droop  of  her  auburn  hair  upon  her 
temples.  The  silent  charms  that  had  paid  tribute 
to  her  highborn  suitor  caused  her  to  be  idolized 
by  all.  The  exultant  state  of  her  own  mind 
acted  like  a  contagion  upon  those  around  her.  It 
was  impossible  to  show  any  but  good  spirits  in 
her  presence.  Benedict  or  Helene  would  have 
been  the  last  to  fall  back  in  the  line  of  those 
who  wished  to  proffer  her  happiness.  The  young 
Duke  was  becoming  more  and  more  enamoured. 

After  a  period  during  which  lively  negotia- 
tions were  carried  on  with  the  transatlantic  home 
of  the  Beauchamps,  in  the  shape  of  long,  ex- 

[215] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

planatory,  eulogistic  letters  from  the  young 
Duke,  replied  to  by  cablegrams  of  unusual 
length,  it  was  agreed  between  Monsieur  le  Due 
de  Beauchamps  and  Mr.  Ario  Emerson  Dolliver 
that  the  Duke's  engagement  to  the  latter's  daugh- 
ter should  be  formally  announced.  A  banquet 
was,  therefore,  given  for  the  purpose,  to  which 
a  selected  number  of  guests  were  bidden.  Owing 
to  Mrs.  Dolliver's  delicate  health,  this  affair  and 
even  the  ceremony  were  to  be  extremely  quiet  and 
unobtrusive.  Ario  would  have  been  charmed  with 
the  eclat  of  a  stupendous  marriage-feast.  Ma- 
tilda and  the  Duke,  however,  convinced  him 
that  tranquil  proceedings  would  be  far  more 
recherches. 

So  the  time  was  fixed  for  the  last  day  of 
February  to  make  known  the  ducal  fiancailles. 
The  event  transpired,  and  the  news  of  it  cir- 
culated far  and  wide.  There  were  so  few  invited 
outside  the  prescribed  coterie  of  friends,  that  a 
hum  of  murmured  dissatisfaction  was  wafted 
among  the  many  who  had  lavished  entertainment 
and  courtesies  upon  the  young  Duke. 

[216] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"This  will  never  do,  Robert,"  said  old  Mr. 
Del  Bondio  to  his  guest,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eyes.  "The  society  of  Baltimore  will  be  down 
on  you  if  you  ignore  them  completely  for  Miss 
Dolliver." 

"  Sacre  bleu,  I  have  forgotten  them  all!  "  cried 
the  young  man  remorsefully.  "  I  will  do  some- 
thing *  great '  for  them,  as  you  say  here.  I  will 
give  what  my  honored  friend  Dolliver  calls  a 
magnificent  '  blow-out'  !  I  like  that  expression; 
it  has  so  round  and  cordial  a  sound,  just  like 
himself." 

"  I  see  you  are  profiting  well  by  your  sojourn 
in  America,  and  falling  easily  into  some  of  our 
choice  Americanisms,"  smiled  Mr.  Del  Bondio. 

"  I  do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  fair  lady  who  has 
caused  the  astriction  of  my  heart.  I  would  that 
we  were  living  in  one  of  those  halcyon  periods 
of  our  history,  that  I  might  enthrone  her  not 
with  a  ducal,  but  a  queenly  crown!" 

"You  speak  with  the  enthusiasm  of  youth 
and  love;  but  love  and  youth  are  the  indissoluble 
ties  of  the  human  heart.  Love  takes  its  place 

[817] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

in  the  process  of  building  the  great  structure  of 
a  human  character.  Yours  is  still  to  be  formed, 
Robert,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  it  begin  with  this, 
the  greatest  of  life's  forces.  You  are  justified, 
too,  in  your  choice  of  the  young  woman.  We 
have  all  learned  to  admire  her;  and  I  predict 
for  her  a  fair  future  in  your  own  country,  where 
a  good  and  beautiful  woman  is  always  a  queen." 

The  young  Duke  glowed  with  the  older  man's 
praise  of  his  fiancee.  "You  think  my  parents 
will  not  be  disappointed  with  my  foreign  mar- 
riage? I  have  duly  prepared  them." 

"They  will  approve  all  that  you  do.  They 
have  confidence  in  your  good  taste  and  judg- 
ment. I  know  their  views.  But  to  return  to 
your  obligation  to  this  small  social  world,  —  what 
do  you  propose  to  do? " 

"I  would  like  to  give  a  grand  diner  de 
ceremowe  at  the  very  best  place  your  city 
commands  —  something  corresponding  to  our 
'  Metropole '  in  Paris  —  and  do  like  my  large- 
hearted  father-in-law  elect,  invite  everybody 
without  distinction." 

[818] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"You  will  surely  reinstate  yourself  in  their 
good  graces,  if  you  give  them  a  big  dinner  at 
'The  Renan/"  approved  the  good-natured  old 
gentleman. 

"  Renan,  Renan?  That  sounds  like  a  good 
French  name.  I  will  patronize  the  place." 

"  Fond  as  we  Americans  are  of  our  democ- 
racy, there  is  nothing  we  prize  more  than  any 
slight  attention  from  the  nobility  across  the 
water,"  averred  old  Mr.  Del  Bondio,  in  his 
whimsical  way. 

The  arrangements  were  finally  completed  for 
the  great  dinner.  Never  was  anything  in  Balti- 
more so  desired,  or  so  well  attended  by  an  antici- 
pating public!  The  Duke  of  Beauchamps' 
munificence  was  lauded.  His  gracious  hospitality 
was  the  talk  of  the  entire  assembly.  True,  the 
Dolliver  prominence  in  the  affair  was  a  favorite 
topic  among  some.  The  Atwoods,  for  instance, 
who  were  at  first  incensed  at  the  Duke's  prefer- 
ence for  Matilda,  had  finally  moderated  their 
feelings  to  an  acceptance  of  the  ducal  dinner. 
They,  nevertheless,  made  insidious  remarks  at 

[219] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

opportunity,  and  partook  of  the  choice  viands 
with  asperity. 

The  Hadley  girls  were  consumed  with  grat- 
itude at  their  inclusion.  Sophie  reached  such  a 
state  of  exhilaration  that  she  related  to  her  escort 
a  bright  remark  of  Ario  Dolliver's,  which  he  had 
made  to  a  colleague  he  was  entertaining  at  this 
same  hotel. 

'You  see  that  man  over  there  in  full-dress 
suit?  That 's  the  head-waiter  here;  he  gets  again 
as  much  salary  as  a  United  States  Senator  and 
gives  ten  times  the  satisfaction ! " 

Sophie's  right-hand  man  agreed,  as  the  dinner 
proceeded,  that  the  man  deserved  his  salary. 

While  every  one  seemed  to  be  enjoying  himself, 
there  were  some  in  the  company  who  could  not 
but  feel  that  this  princely  entertainment  was  only 
the  forecast  of  the  Duke  and  Matilda's  departure. 
Perhaps,  the  one  in  all  the  great  company  who 
most  realized  this  fact,  was  Ario  Dolliver  him- 
self. He  who  had  toiled  so  unremittingly  for  the 
purpose  he  had  just  accomplished,  was  now  feel- 
ing some  of  the  pangs  of  vaulting  ambition. 

[220] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

That  dazzling,  beautiful  creature  whom  he  had 
raised  to  the  highest  point  to  which  an  ambitious 
society  woman  can  attain,  was  soon  to  be  taken 
away  from  him;  a  whole  ocean's  distance  to  be 
put  between  her  and  them!  Like  the  ancient 
sculptor,  he  was  loathe  to  part  with  his  handiwork. 
He  lay  awake  the  better  part  of  that  night, 
ruminating  strange  thoughts  in  his,  now,  troubled 
mind.  The  next  morning  at  breakfast  when  his 
wife  asked  him  the  cause  of  his  restlessness,  he 
merely  said, 

"  Guess  it  must  a'  been  something  I  et."  He 
would  not  afflict  his  Emmy  with  any  of  his  appre- 
hensive thoughts.  His  greatest  anxiety  was  for 
the  mother  who  watched  all  these  appalling  prep- 
arations with  wide-eyed,  ingenuous  wonder. 
Benedict,  who  sometimes  caught  sight  of  Mrs. 
Dolliver's  face  in  their  various  meetings,  felt  his 
heart  go  out  to  her  in  sympathy. 

"  She  must  feel  something  as  I  do,"  he  said  to 
himself.  'Yet  for  a  mother — well,  it  is  an 
overwhelming  tragedy ! " 

The  time  of  the  conclusive  event  approached. 
[221  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  ceremony,  as  Matilda  had  told  Travis,  was 
to  be  exclusively  quiet,  owing  to  Mrs.  Dolliver's 
tremulous  condition.  Again  was  the  social  world 
to  be  grievously  thwarted.  Yet  every  one's 
taste  can  hardly  be  consulted  in  affairs  of  this 
sort.  Matilda,  her  family,  the  friends  and 
associates,  who  were  to  perform  for  her  the 
nuptial  offices,  went  to  the  church  in  a  few  car- 
riages. Monsieur  le  Due  de  Beauchamps  and  his 
party  did  likewise.  It  took  but  one  short  hour  for 
the  high  mass  to  be  said,  which  transformed 
Matilda  Dolliver  into  Mathilde,  twenty-second 
Duchesse  de  Beauchamps. 

If  the  newly  wedded  couple  had  not  themselves 
been  so  radiant  with  joy,  it  might  have  seemed  a 
sad  wedding ;  so  many  among  the  few  guests  wore 
a  sad  heart!  When  they  returned  to  the  home, 
the  festive  atmosphere  was  partially  regained. 
Matilda's  presence  was,  alone,  a  restorative 
agent;  for  she  was  distractingly  lovely  in  her 
bridal  attire.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  eyes 
lustrously  dark  and  brilliant,  for  she  had  taken 
the  master-step  in  the  ascendency  of  her  much 


desired  conquests.  A  remarkable  attraction 
emanated  from  her;  a  magnetic  influence  of  the 
mind,  keen,  sparkling,  sometimes  brilliant,  al- 
ways gracious.  The  men  were  all  fascinated  by 
her;  a  few  women  were  devoted  to  her;  her  rivals 
detested  her;  every  one  was  forced  to  admire  her. 

A  few  of  her  intimates,  together  with  her  father 
and  mother,  accompanied  her  to  the  ship's  dock. 

The  brightness  of  her  smile  did  not  lessen  as 
she  parted  from  them  all  with  fond  farewells. 
When  the  boat's  anchor  was  lifted,  she  still  clung 
to  the  rail  beside  her  noble  liege  to  wave  her  ker- 
chief to  them  as  the  ship  sailed  away  to  the 
grandeur  and  richness  of  the  aristocratic  Beau- 
champs  estates.  It  seemed  to  the  Atwood  girls, 
who  had  likewise  come  to  the  launching,  that 
Matilda  was  flaunting  the  flag  of  victory  in 
their  faces. 

When  they  were  quite  out  of  sight,  Helena 
and  Benedict  came  away  together.  Each  one 
returned  to  his  own  home,  with  excruciating 
efforts  to  appear  happy.  Mrs.  Doyle  had  not 
gone  to  the  wharf,  deeming  it  far  too  unpleasant 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

an  effort.  When  Helene  entered,  her  mother 
expressed  herself  in  this  manner: 

"  Well,  I  am  very  glad  it  is  all  over,  and  I  am 
immensely  relieved." 

Helene  offered  no  comments  but  went  straight 
to  her  room  where  she  remained  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

Benedict  repaired  to  his  lodgings,  feeling  that 
he  needed  a  respite  from  human  companionship. 
He  spent  the  evening  in  solitude,  grieving  for 
Matilda  like  Helene,  who  also  was  grieving  for 
Matilda,  but  most  of  all  for  Benedict. 


[224] 


CHAPTER  XII 

MATILDA    MEETS    PREFERMENT    IN    THE    FRENCH 
CAPITAL 

"And  this  I  know;   whether  the  one  True  Light 
Kindle  to  Love,  or  Wrath  consume  me  quite, 
One  flash  of  It  within  the  Tavern  caught 
Better  than  in  the  Temple  lost  outright." 

PERHAPS  it  is  not  possible  to  describe,  but 
better  to  imagine,  the  sensations  of  a  young 
woman  like  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Beauchamps 
upon  her  first  approach  to  the  Old  World  from 
the  New  through  the  triumphal  archway  of  a 
highly  cultured  Paris  home.  Not  many  Ameri- 
can women  reach  that  super-exalted  pedestal  of 
feminine  achievement.  Matilde  de  Beauchamps 
recognized  her  position  and  appreciated  it.  The 
reception  she  received  from  her  husband's  family 
far  exceeded  her  most  sanguine  expectations, 
though  sanguine  hope  was  not  one  of  Matilda 
Dolliver's  temperamental  qualifications.  She  had 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

imbibed  too  freely  from  the  main  source  of  sound 
judgment  in  her  family,  to  have  been  carried 
beyond  her  own  practical  good  sense.  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Beauchamps  bestowed  a  just 
share  of  their  adoration  for  their  son  Robert 
upon  the  wife  of  his  choice. 

They  belonged  to  that  limited  class  of  the 
French  nobility  that  is  above  temptations  of  a 
vulgar  nature.  Their  wealth,  position  and  ances- 
tral greatness  of  mind  debarred  them  from  aims 
such  as  are  sometimes  shown  in  international  asso- 
ciations. Her  husband's  parents  received  Ma- 
tilda with  open  arms,  as  their  daughter.  Before 
she  had  been  in  their  home  a  week,  they  fell  into 
the  web  of  her  fascinating  presence. 

"  If  we  had  had  a  daughter  to  be  a  companion 
to  Robert,  I  could  not  have  wished  her  more  per- 
fect than  is  Mathilde,"  said  the  elder  Monsieur 
de  Beauchamps. 

"  She  fills  all  my  heart's  need  of  a  wife  for 
him,"  supplemented  the  Madame  Mother,  and 
breathed  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  complacency. 

[226] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Politically  speaking,  M.  de  Beauchamps  had 
never  entertained  an  undue  ambition  for  his  son 
Robert;  this  branch  of  the  family  was  too  far 
removed  from  the  Orleanists  or  Bourbons;  nor 
would  he  have  wished  his  son  to  hold  any  juxta- 
position with  the  grand-nephew  of  the  great 
Napoleon,  the  magic  of  whose  name  and  inter- 
woven lineage  would  surround  him  with  French 
and  Russian  allies.  Quite  the  contrary,  Robert 
was  not  born  to  rule.  His  native  gentleness  and 
studiousness  would  have  unfitted  him.  He  was 
far  happier  married  to  the  educated  daughter 
of  an  American  King  of  Industry,  whose  mind 
was  sympathetic  enough  to  respond  to  his  needs 
for  study  and  research,  than  sitting  upon  any 
throne  in  Europe. 

The  De  Beauchamps,  as  Robert  had  told  his 
American  friends  the  night  of  the  Atwood  ball, 
were  radicalists  in  their  views. 

"  It  matters  not  who  is  at  the  head  of  our 
government,"  Grandfather  de  Beauchamps  used 
to  say,  "  as  long  as  it  be  a  man  of  power,  of  self- 

[227  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

mastery  and  efficiency,  of  prodigious  energy,  like 
the  great  Napoleon." 

They  rather  leaned  toward  the  Napoleonic 
faction,  being  admirers  of  the  man  and  applaud- 
ing the  achievements  which  cause  him  to  be  rec- 
ognized to-day  as  one  of  the  greatest  personalities 
in  all  history.  They  did  not  descend  from  war- 
riors and  conquerors,  so  much  as  from  scholars; 
from  men  whose  minds  have  left  their  impress  on 
the  art,  church,  history,  and  literature  of  the 
country. 

Mathilde,  coming  as  Robert's  wife,  seemed  the 
crowning  consummation  of  their  latter  days' 
happiness.  Her  delightfully  fresh  young  nature 
was  itself  revealed  in  that  atmosphere  of  inborn 
refinement  and  culture.  She  inwardly  gloated 
over  the  richness  and  antiquity  of  its  furnishings. 
In  the  Beauchamps'  residence  there  were  appoint- 
ments of  exquisite  taste,  dating  back  to  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  marvellous  carvings  of  the  masters  who 
have  left  their  record  in  the  delicate  sculptures  of 
French  churches,  marvellous  and  intricate  tap- 
estries from  the  weavers  of  Flanders.  It  seemed 

[228] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  have  accumulated  the  artistic  riches  of  the 
surrounding  provinces. 

One  day,  at  breakfast,  the  young  Duke,  watch- 
ing her  enthusiasm  over  a  table  de  credence  or 
serving  table,  of  rare  workmanship,  laid  his  hand 
upon  hers  and  said, 

*  You  are  perfectly  contented,  mon  ange,  are 
you  not?" 

She  smiled  radiantly  at  him. 

"  I  needed  not  to  have  asked  the  idle  question. 
I  might  have  known  by  your  perpetual  expression 
of  sunshine." 

"Mon  ami,  how  could  you  distrust  me!" 

The  French  say  "mon  ami"  as  we  say 
"  my  love,"  "  my  own,"  "  my  darling."  The  crisp 
little  utterance  is  the  one  term  of  endearment,  the 
truest  and  best. 

Matilda  wrote  home  very  frequently  during 
these  first  days  of  new-found  happiness.  Her 
heart  was  so  full  of  exulting  joy.  To  her  mother 
she  wrote: 

'  You  see,  my  dear  mother,  that  I  have  not 
unlearned  the  lessons  you  taught  me  of  being  a 

[229] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

dutiful  daughter.  My  dear  Robert's  parents  are 
heavenly  kind  to  me.  I  hope  they  feel  my  grati- 
tude and  affection." 

To  Helene,  she  said: 

"  The  home  of  the  people  into  wftose  family  a 
kind  fate  has  graciously  brought  me,  is  unlike 
any  home  I  have  ever  seen.  In  Baltimore,  I  dare 
say,  are  perhaps  the  finest,  most  cultured  homes 
of  America.  Yet,  I  know  that  none  approaches 
this  one.  I  recall  nothing  in  Baltimore  that  sug- 
gests anything  later  than  the  Civil  War,  or  in 
Boston,  than  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers. 

"  The  French  people  certainly  know  the  art  of 
living  well  and  wisely. 

"  My  husband,  I  have  discovered,  has  a  strong 
predilection  for  natural  science,  a  thing  which 
during  our  brief  courtship  escaped  me.  He  has 
a  particular  fondness  for  geology  and  his  especial 
line  of  interest  is  glaciers.  After  taking  his 
degrees  at  Saint-Cyr,  he  spent  several  summers 
in  the  glacier  regions  of  Germany  and  Switzer- 
land, making  an  extended  study  of  the  subject. 
When  our  first  year  of  mutual  acquaintance  with 

[230] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

each  other  is  past  —  this  is  a  custom  in  France  — 
he  will  return  to  the  study  of  his  profession.  We 
propose  to  spend  the  following  Summer  in  Switz- 
erland where  he  wishes  to  attain  a  greater  knowl- 
edge of  the  Rhone  Glacier. 

"  In  July  we  go  to  Normandy  for  the  Summer. 
The  Chateau  de  Beauchamps,  they  tell  me,  is  an 
ideal  spot  to  spend  what  Benedict  would  call 
'  the  first  Olympian  joys  of  our  married  state.' 
Remember  me  to  him,  and  tell  me  how  he  fares, 
when  you  write." 

Paris  in  April  and  June  is  at  its  height  of  ver- 
dant freshness.  The  parks,  boulevards,  and 
avenues  are  sweet-scented  with  the  myriads  of 
blossoming  trees.  The  Hotel  de  Beauchamps,  the 
winter  residence  of  the  family,  was  situated  on 
the  Avenue  des  Acacias,  one  of  the  favorite  road- 
ways of  the  rich  and  elegant,  which  faces  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  and  springs  from  the  avenue  of  that 
name.  When  Matilda  went  from  there  to  view 
the  various  attractions  of  the  city,  her  swift 
antomoteur  carried  her  past  the  most  beautiful 
parts  of  that  west  end  of  Paris  —  past  the  Arc  de 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Triomphe,  where  she  thought  of  the  great 
Napoleon,  to  whose  undying  glory  it  was  erected, 
re-experiencing,  perhaps,  some  of  the  emotions 
felt  by  the  conqueror  when,  making  his  triumphal 
entry,  he  stood  upon  that  eminence  to  dominate 
the  city.  Her  victories  and  conquests  were  also 
just  beginning.  Down  the  Champs  Elysees  they 
flew,  that  triple  esplanade  where  the  fleeting 
tourers  are  followed  by  melodious  choruses  of 
songsters  from  the  trees  that  gird  its  six  sides. 
No  wonder  she  felt  she  had  reached  the  fields 
elysian  and  that  her  life  henceforth  promised  to 
rise  to  Parnassian  heights  of  perfection.  Her 
husband,  who  sat  beside  her  emulating  the  de- 
lights of  the  Greek  hero  when  he  sat  beside  his 
Helen,  pointed  out  to  her  the  elegant  quarters  of 
Paris  where  refined  materialism  abounds. 

"We  know/'  he  said,  apologetically,  "that  in 
Paris  virtue  is  not  aggressive." 

"  All  the  more  credit  to  those  who  practise  it," 
returned  Matilda.  She  was  gazing  at  that  pleas- 
ing but  superficial  aspect  of  the  city. 

"  This  is  the  quarter  which,  so  M.  Ernest  Renan 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

affirms,  would  make  a  good  furnace  wherein 
might  be  consumed  that  superfluity  of  life  which 
is  not  occupied  in  Science,  or  absorbed  in 
Philosophy!" 

"  Monsieur  Renan  is  rather  pitiless,  is  he  not? " 
suggested  Matilda.  "That  conclusive  means 
might  apply  to  other  cities  as  well  as  Paris." 

"  Feminine  philanthropy  always  tempers  your 
judgment  to  mercy,  belle  duchesse"  smiled 
Robert  adoringly.  "  But  I  will  conduct  you  past 
the  great  seats  of  learning  where  profound 
thinkers  spend  their  precious  days." 

He  wished  her  to  observe  the  Institut,  the  most 
glorious  creation  of  the  Revolution.  He  repeated 
to  her  what  M.  Renan  says  concerning  it: 
"  France  alone  has  an  institute  where  all  the 
efforts  of  the  human  mind  are,  as  it  were, 
bound  into  one;  where  poet,  philosopher,  his- 
torian, the  philologist,  the  critic,  the  mathema- 
tician, the  astronomer,  the  geologist ;  all  classes  of 
thinkers  can  meet  as  colleagues  and  enjoy  the 
stupendous  result  which  great  and  single-minded 
men  have  conceived." 

[233] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

He  was  proud  and  happy  to  find  her  mind 
keen  and  responsive.  He  led  her  past  the  great 
municipal  buildings,  the  Palais  de  1'Elysee,  the 
Comedie,  every  structure  that  stamps  Paris  as 
the  mistress  and  leader  of  all  arts  in  the  world. 
He  visited  with  her  the  treasures  of  the  Tuileries, 
where  Matilda  saw  the  far-famed  Mona  Lisa, 
whose  marvellous  smile  Helene  Doyle's  re- 
sembled. He  wished  to  enlarge  the  scope  of  the 
knowledge  she  had  gained  merely  through  hear- 
ing or  reading  of  Paris,  by  actual  experience. 

The  month  of  June  in  Paris  is  not  only  the  time 
of  Nature's  most  perfect  renewal,  but  it  marks 
also  the  revival  of  social  activities.  In  July  every 
one  of  distinction  performs  the  great  exodus  of 
going  en  villegiature.  The  young  Duke  wished 
his  wife  to  be  at  her  best  when  she  appeared  in 
that  highly  learned  and  aristocratic  circle;  and 
he  was  not  disappointed.  Matilda  was  received 
by  society  with  the  same  enthusiastic  demonstra- 
tions she  had  met  from  Monsieur  de  Due's  family. 
Her  beauty  and  brilliancy;  the  natural  refine- 
ment of  manner,  accentuated  by  the  influence  of 

[234] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  cultured  De  Beauchamps  home,  caused  that 
amiable  public  to  shower  her  with  ovations. 
Helene  had  acquainted  her  so  thoroughly  with 
French  matters  that  she  was  able  to  converse  with 
keen  perception  on  all  topics  of  interest. 

The  entire  months  of  May  and  June  were  given 
up  to  festive  entertainment  of  the  young  Duke 
and  his  beautiful  bride.  The  persons  who  enter- 
tained them  were  not  of  the  so-called  society  of 
Paris,  the  dames  du  monde,  but  of  that  distin- 
guished circle  of  savants  and  thinkers  from  which 
the  young  Duke  drew  his  friends.  Some  of  the 
older  ones  were  Academicians ;  others  were  young 
men  who,  like  himself,  were  aspirants  to  that  high 
mark  of  excellence.  These  persons  and  their 
wives,  destined  to  share  in  the  future  renovation 
of  French  society,  held  such  salons  as  were  known 
in  the  days  of  Madame  de  Stae'l.  Every  one  of 
them  frequented  the  Comedie  Fran9aise,  and 
discussed  the  merit  and  charm  of  its  actors  at 
these  reunions.  Such  things  as  the  Concours 
Hippique,  and  other  superficial  amusements  of 
the  monde-ordinaire,  were  wholly  disregarded. 

[235] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

They  had  no  time  for  the  artificial  joys  of  life. 
They  were  banded  together  to  raise  the  standard 
of  existence  in  Paris,  and  the  world  at  large,  as 
well  as  to  follow  out  their  own  pleasurable 
interests. 

The  test  was  a  severe  one  for  a  young  woman 
like  Matilda ;  but  she  stood  it  well,  and  came  out 
as  usual,  in  the  ascendant.  Robert,  having  well 
convinced  himself  of  his  wife's  remarkable 
adaptability,  felt  that  they  could  now  repair  to 
the  restful  solitude  of  the  chateau  in  Normandy. 
He  said  to  himself. 

"  She  is  in  such  admirable  accord  with  us  and 
our  movements  that  she  will  welcome  the  seclu- 
sion. The  dear  child,  I  wonder  if  she  has  felt  the 
emotional  qualms  that  have  stirred  my  breast! 
The  change  to  a  more  uneventful  life  will  do  her 
good." 

As  for  Matilda,  when  the  time  came  for  them 
to  leave  the  city,  she  confided  to  her  husband,  as 
they  rolled  away  in  their  closed  car  to  the  Gare 
du  Nord,  all  her  impressions  of  what  the  life  in 
Paris  had  been  to  her.  She  concluded  by  quot- 

[236] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

ing  to  him,  in  French,  Sainte-Beuve's  loving 
ascription : 

"  O  Paris !  It  is  with  thee  that  life  is  sweet  to 
live;  it  is  with  thee,  and  for  thee  I  wish  to  die!" 

The  young  nobleman  was  delighted.  "  Now, 
I  feel  sure  that  our  joint  life  will  proceed  in  a 
concourse  of  sweet  harmony! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
feared  that  our  quiet,  retired  life  would  pall  upon 
a  gay  young  woman  of  the  world,  such  as  I  found 
you  to  be  in  Baltimore." 

'  Yours  is  the  life  I  prefer,"  said  Matilda,  and 
she  spoke  genuinely. 

"  It  was  the  silent  sympathy  of  our  two  natures 
that  drew  me  to  you  with  an  invisible  cord  —  to 
you,  of  all  the  fair  young  women  gathered  there 
that  memorable  night ! 

"  Come,  mon  ange"  he  said,  tenderly  taking 
her  arm,  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  vagons  de 
luxe  awaiting  them. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Beauchamps  fol- 
lowed them  in,  and  they  all  started  together  in 
comfort  and  safety. 

The  Chateau  de  Beauchamps  is  situated  some 
[237] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

little  distance  from  Nantes,  whose  cathedral 
spires,  as  well  as  the  tower  of  St.  Maclou,  might 
have  been  seen  from  the  north  end  of  the  chateau 
had  not  the  dense  wood  surrounding  it  at  this 
season  of  the  year  interposed.  Few  travellers  or 
tourists  penetrate  into  that  mysteriously  hidden 
chateau  of  Normandy,  fortified  and  protected  by 
the  natural  bulwarks  of  the  country  in  times 
when  there  was  every  need  to  dread  the  invasion 
of  the  terrorists.  A  bend  in  the  river,  screened 
by  a  deep  wood,  led  to  an  open  glade  by  which  one 
came  in  sight  of  a  stately  chateau,  with  rosy  brick 
walls  faced  with  cream-tinted  stone,  and  retired 
—  as  became  the  high-born  beings  who  had  found 
shelter  there  in  troublous  days.  It  was  ap- 
proached by  a  long,  tortuous  white  path,  boxed 
on  either  side  with  hedges  of  gnarled  eglantine. 
In  architecture  it  was  a  feudal  chateau,  embel- 
lished by  Renaissance  touches  —  high  pointed 
towers  and  fair,  slender  turrets  adorned  with  the 
rich  blazonry  of  the  French  arms.  Still  more 
poetic  and  reminiscent  of  the  days  of  French 
princesses  and  queens  was  its  interior.  The  huge 

[238] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

rooms,  with  colored  glass  or  latticed  windows, 
the  vines  climbing  rampant  about  every  niche 
and  nook  of  its  stone  walls,  gave  one  the  im- 
pression of  having  dropped  back  several  centuries 
to  the  time  when  peace  or  tumult  were  witnessed 
by  those  high,  grim,  and  silent  walls. 

Robert  always  enjoyed  this  seeming  lapse  into 
past  ages.  His  time  at  other  seasons,  ever  since 
his  Saint- Cyr  days,  had  been  occupied  in  stren- 
uous mental  and  physical  activity.  This  was  a 
contrast  to  the  drowsy  somnolence  to  which  he 
was  willing  to  yield  the  full  three  months  for  the 
sake  of  the  young  wife  whose  diverse  qualities  of 
mind  in  themselves  offered  sufficient  attraction 
to  his  explorative  spirit. 

"  And  yet  you  talk  already  of  Lucerne  for  next 
Summer!"  teased  M.  de  Beauchamps  the  father, 
as  they  sat  all  together  one  evening,  watching  the 
rosy  tints  of  the  sunset  playing  on  the  water 
basins  below.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have 
chosen  a  cold  science  to  couple  with  your  first 
years  of  honeymooning,  my  Robert;  are  you  not 
afraid  to  take  this  fair  Mathilde  with  you,  lest  the 

[239] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

frozen  glacier  strike  her  heart?  Better  leave  her 
here  with  us.  We  will  keep  her  heart  warm  with 
love,"  he  added  in  a  tone  of  badinage. 

Matilda  was  sunk  deep  in  a  large  bergere, 
smiling  at  their  perpetual  atticisms,  and  looking 
bewitchingly  lovely. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  alarmed  or  surprised,  father, 
at  your  gallant  consideration  of  my  wife,"  said 
the  young  Duke,  with  a  glance  at  Matilda.  "  But 
I  shall  need  both  her  love  and  mine  to  melt  that 
stern  glacier  into  yielding  me  some  of  its  secrets ! " 

"  Next  Summer  is  a  whole  year  off,"  put  in 
Madame  Mother  who  did  not  like  separations  of 
the  family.  '  You  know  we  are  always  desolate 
when  you  leave  us,  and  now  Mathilde  has  come, 
it  would  be  still  worse  to  take  her  also ! " 

"Let  us  not  worry  ourselves  with  the  future. 
Let  come  what  may !  "  philosophized  the  elder  M. 
de  Beauchamps,  rising  to  take  Matilda  upon  his 
arm  and  show  her  the  young  swans  and  the 
curious  fish  of  the  mirroring  lakes. 

From  the  fair  chateau,,  Matilda  wrote  many 
letters  to  her  parents  and  the  friends  in  Balti- 

[240] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

more.  She  told  them  all  the  delights  of  this  new 
abode,  and  enthused  as  they  had  never  known 
her  to  do  before.  She  was  certainly  showing 
the  full  development  of  womanhood.  Her  de- 
sires having  all  been  fulfilled,  she  blossomed 
out  like  a  glorious  flower  into  loving  tenderness 
to  all.  She  was  more  yielding  to  the  ardent 
young  husband  who  was  keenly  alert  to  her  every 
spoken  or  unspoken  wish.  She  felt  sometimes 
that,  surrounded  by  all  this  adulation  and  kind 
protection,  she  would  surely  learn  the  way  to  lov- 
ing him  with  the  great  absorbing  passion  he  was 
constantly  unfolding.  In  this  Olympian  state  of 
human  joys,  we  shall  leave  them,  to  follow  the 
paths  of  those  who  were  left  sorrowing  at  home. 


[241] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BENEDICT  TURNS  TO  HELENE 

"  Yet  Ah,  that  Spring  should  vanish  with  the  Rose! 
That  Youth's  sweet-scented  Manuscript  should  close! 

The  Nightingale  that  in   the  Branches  sang, 
Ah  whence,  and  whither  flown  again,  who  knows!  " 

THE  first  few  months  after  the  Duke  and 
Matilda's  departure  from  Baltimore  were 
rather  dull  ones  for  some  of  its  deserted  inhab- 
itants. The  advent  of  M.  de  Beauchamps,  itself, 
was  enough  to  raise  the  social  scale  of  expectation 
far  beyond  its  ordinary  limitations ;  but  his  hasty 
courtship,  all  arrangements  necessary  for  his 
marriage  consummated  within  the  space  of  less 
than  five  months,  produced  a  correspondingly 
depressing  dip  of  the  balance.  Fashionable  peo- 
ple went  away  on  their  varied  trips  for  the 
summer;  in  a  measure,  to  work  off  the  effect  of 
the  shock  and  hide  their  disappointment,  chagrin, 
or  vexation,  as  the  case  might  be.  The  only  ones 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

who  did  not  retire  from  the  scene  of  action  were 
the  Dollivers,  Benedict,  and  the  Hadley  girls. 

Through  the  whole  of  that  Summer,  Mr.  Dolli- 
ver  felt  the  weight  of  his  over-calculated  aims. 
He  suffered  a  lesser  degree  of  depression,  how- 
ever, than  his  Emmy  at  home.  His  mind  was  so 
stocked  with  the  active  directorship  of  great  busi- 
ness corporations  that  he  might  well  lose  sight  of 
the  low  fluctuation  of  his  sentimental  basis.  It 
was  only  when  he  returned  to  his  home  in  the 
evening  that  the  emptiness  of  the  house  struck 
him;  the  chill  silence,  the  sadly  beautiful  ob- 
jects that  reflected  Matilda's  cultured  tastes, 
which  he  had  gradually  learned  to  appreciate 
and  enjoy.  Mrs.  Dolliver,  whenever  she  greeted 
him,  tried  to  assume  a  look  of  cheeriness.  She 
was  so  glad  to  see  him ;  the  day  had  been  so  long 
without  him! 

:'Well,  how  is  it  with  you,  little  woman?"  he 
would  say. 

"Everything  has  gone  on  about  as  usual. 
There  is  nothing  much  to  come  and  stir  us  up  these 
days,"  Mrs.  Dolliver  would  reply  resignedly. 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did  see  Mr.  Travis  and  Helene  Doyle 
going  by  in  one  of  those  new  kind  of  motor-cars. 
They  both  saw  me  as  they  flew  by,  and  smiled 
pleasantly." 

"  That  was  something  kind  of  breezy,  I  should 
say.  Any  news  from  Matildy?" 

"  Nothing  to-day." 

They  both  sat  through  long  silences.  The  hus- 
band, perhaps,  would  take  up  his  paper,  but  list- 
lessly, as  if  it  no  longer  interested  him.  But  Mrs. 
Dolliver  did  not  like  to  be  silent  now  when  her 
husband  was  home.  Her  heart  was  so  full  of 
trouble.  She  could  not  stifle  its  hungry  prompt- 
ings when  he  was  near,  so  much  did  she  long  for 
hopeful  replies. 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  'd  never  see  Matilda  again! " 
she  said,  with  a  plaintive  sigh,  on  one  of  these 
occasions. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,  Mommie  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Dolliver,  looking  up  quickly  from  his  paper,  as 
if  he  had  been  expecting  her  words.  "  Matildy  '11 
be  coming  home  some  time,  and  then  won't  there 
be  a  sensation?  Gee  whiz!  " 

[244] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"She  will  never  come  without  her  husband; 
Robert  would  not  let  her  go  so  far  away  without 
him." 

:<  Well,  then  there  'd  be  twice  the  sensation ! " 
affirmed  Mr.  Dolliver. 

"  I  could  n't  help  noticing  them  when  they 
were  here  together.  He  acted  as  if  he  couldn't 
breathe  away  from  her,"  said  Emmy,  with  a  little 
reminiscent  smile  that  caused  Ario  to  say, 

"Just  like  us  when  we  was  lovers.  My!  don't 
it  seem  long  ago  ? " 

Emmy  was  still  occupied  with  her  own 
thoughts.  She  said  wonderingly,  "  It  may  be 
years  before  they  will  want  to  come  back. 
Matilda  writes  that  she  is  so  happy ;  that  her  hus- 
band's homes  are  more  beautiful  than  any  she  has 
ever  seen;  that  his  parents  treat  her  like  a 
daughter,  and  seem  very  fond  of  her." 

Mr.  Dolliver  sat  a  while  with  his  chin  lowered, 
resting  upon  his  closed  fist,  in  quiet  contempla- 
tion. That  remark  of  his  wife's  about  Helene 
Doyle  and  Benedict  gave  food  to  his  sober  study. 

How  fond  he  must  have  been  of  her,  he  thought 
[245] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  himself.  And  it  had  looked  as  if  she  favored 
him,  too.  If  not,  why  had  she  let  him  come  that 
night ;  and  stay  so  long  that  every  one  was  asleep, 
except  them  and  James,  when  he  left  ?  If  she  had 
married  him  instead  of  the  Duke,  how  pleasant  it 
would  have  been  now!  Benedict  had  enough  for 
a  young  man  and  he  was  getting  richer  every  day. 
Besides,  Matildy  would  have  had  more  than 
plenty  for  both.  It  was  the  title  that  had  fetched 
her;  and  he  helped  her  to  do  it! 

Notwithstanding  these  regretful  reflections  he 
could  not  help  a  slight  thrill  of  pride  when  he 
thought  of  his  daughter  abroad ;  of  her  husband's 
fair  estates,  and  all  that  she  had  acquired  by  her 
marriage. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  he  said  aloud,  "  we  must  n't 
feel  so  dismal  about  Tildy.  It 's  all  right  that  a 
girl  should  marry,  'specially  a  fine  girl  like  her. 
The  law  of  nature  demands  it.  You  'd  have  liked 
it  better,  I  dare  say,  if  she  had  ducked  to  some 
one  here  at  home,  like  Benedict  Travis;  but  she 
got  what  she  wanted,  and  we've  nothing  to  say 
as  long  as  she 's  satisfied  with  the  kind  of  husband 

[246] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

she 's  got,  a  good  man.  Dukes  ain't  always  such ; 
but  he 's  an  exception  —  just  clean  picked  out  for 
Matildy." 

Mr.  Dolliver  had  that  bracing  hopefulness 
about  him  that  never  failed  to  touch  those  on 
whom  it  radiated,  and  on  none  more  than  the 
gentle  Mrs.  Dolliver.  She  felt  the  influence  of 
his  strong,  bright  nature,  and  cheered  up  at  once, 
by  preparing  some  little  home  entertainments  for 
him ;  some  pleasant  friends  to  dinner ;  people  who 
had  known  and  loved  Matilda,  and  who  would 
join  them  in  rehearsing  her  virtues,  and  sym- 
pathize with  them  in  all  her  happiness  and 
successes.  Thus,  they  continued  their  luxurious, 
though  lonely  life  through  the  summer  days  that 
followed. 

Benedict  Travis,  like  the  honorable  man  that 
he  was,  tried  to  smother  the  barely  opened  bud 
of  his  young  passion  by  spending  much  time  with 
Helene  Doyle,  who  sympathized  with  him  more 
than  ever  in  his  feelings  for  Matilda.  They 
talked  of  her  beauty  and  her  charms ;  of  how  they 
had  both  learned  to  admire  and  to  love  her. 

[247] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Helene  had  formed  an  affectionate  regard  for 
Matilda  from  the  very  first  days  of  her  tutorship 
of  the  modest,  yet  spirited  girl  who  had  come  with 
perfect  certitude  into  that  hornet's  nest  of  class 
distinction,  the  Pettingill  School.  Now,  Matilda 
seemed  to  her  like  a  beautiful  plant  that  had 
grown  and  developed  into  rare  beauty  of  mind 
and  body  under  her  nurturing. 

Gradually  they  drifted  into  the  ethics  of  senti- 
ment. Helene  believed  in  life-long  attachments, 
not  sudden  passions,  as  the  proper  basis  for 
conjugal  felicity. 

"You  would  hardly  call  four  years  a  sudden 
attachment?"  questioned  Benedict. 

"  I  was  referring  to  one  of  five  months," 
replied  Helene. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  promptly  jerked  away  from 
purely  personal  considerations.  '  Yet  all  the 
reports  are  highly  favorable." 

"  It  is  always  so  during  the  first  year  of  mar- 
riage, especially  if  one  adds  to  it  the  glamour  of 
novelty  and  noble  connections." 

[248] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Helena,  I  don't  like  to  think  you  hold  pessi- 
mistic views  regarding  this  affair." 

"Far  from  it;  I  am  only  looking  at  the  re- 
alistically poetic  side  of  it." 

"  Realistic  poetry! "  cried  the  youth,  his  jocular 
humor  tempered  by  interest.  "  What  means  that 
ingenious  paradox?" 

"  Perhaps,"  Helene  bantered,  "  you  are  too 
young  to  go  deeply  into  the  subject." 

"Too  young!    How  much  too  young,  pray?" 

'  Years,"  with  mock  gravity. 

There  was  something  in  her  joking  that  he  did 
not  like,  ready  as  he  usually  was  to  respond  in 
kind.  A  moment  he  stared  hard  at  her,  then 
grumbled : 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  you  are 
years  ahead  of  me  in  wisdom;  one  year  of  teach- 
ing, I  presume,  is  worth  five  of  knocking  against 
the  world."  His  sarcasm  left  her  unmoved. 
"  You  '11  be  proposing  to  adopt  me  next." 

"Do  you  feel  the  need  of  a  guardian?" 
brightly. 

[249] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Not  you,"  he  soberly  returned.  "  You  hold 
a  much  dearer  place  in  my  estimation." 

The  smile  suddenly  left  Helene's  face. 

"  I  was  only  realizing,"  she  said,  serious  now 
herself,  "that  a  woman's  mind  is  keener  than  a 
man's  to  ferret  out  possible  results."  All  at  once 
she  leaned  forward  and  brushed  the  back  of  his 
hand  with  her  cool,  smooth  palm,  once  more  smil- 
ing bravely  into  his  intent  eyes. 

"It  is  sometimes  a  duty  to  forget,  Benedict," 
she  said.  "You  must  occupy  your  mind  with 
other  things." 

"But,"  he  stubbornly  persisted,  "you  believe 
that  Matilda  is  happy?  —  that  she  always  will 
be?" 

Still  smiling,  her  regard  steadily  met  his.  But 
she  did  not  reply.  Presently  he  drew  a  long 
breath  and,  in  a  lowered  voice,  said, 

'  You  are  right.    You  always  are." 

"  I  try  to  be,"  she  sighed. 

"You  couldn't  be  anything  else,  Helene,"  he 
fervently  declared.  "  You  're  a  trump ! " 

[250] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Instantly  her  smile  was  transformed  into  the 
familiar  occluding  veil. 

"  The  trump  that  wins  the  game? "  she  asked. 

He  fancied  he  detected  a  note  of  eagerness  in 
the  question,  and  he  paused  a  second  before  reply- 
ing, to  wonder  why.  But  he  answered  her  with 
unmistakable  sincerity. 

"  I  truly  hope  so,"  he  said. 

There  was  something  always  comforting  and 
assuaging  in  a  talk  with  Helene,  Benedict 
thought,  as  he  walked  away.  Each  time  he  went 
to  see  her,  she  quieted  him  and  brought  him  back 
to  that  normal  state  of  sweet  companionship  which 
had  characterized  their  friendship  long  before 
Matilda  had  come  between  them  as  a  forceful 
unit.  Yet  the  vivid  memory  of  the  latter  was  so 
indelibly  impressed  upon  his  virgin  sensibilities, 
that  he  could  not  wholly  quell  the  flood  of  his 
recollections. 

By  the  end  of  September  he  decided  to  take  a 
short  respite  from  daily  duties.  It  was  the  glo- 
rious hunting  season,  when  quail  and  pheasant 

[251] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

abounded  in  the  woods  and  thickets  belonging  to 
Willow  Brook  Farm.  It  would  do  him  good,  he 
said,  to  shoulder  his  hunter's  rifle  and  sack,  and 
tramp  about  with  his  dogs  for  eight  or  ten  days, 
then  rest  at  home  another  week  or  two.  This 
would  thoroughly  fit  him  for  work  once  more. 
He  would  announce  his  decision  to  the  dear  old 
folks  by  telegram,  and  spring  upon  them  the  next 
moment. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Travis,  naturally,  were  trans- 
ported with  joy  at  this  long-delayed  visit. 

"Diet  is  working  too  hard,"  said  his  father, 
pleating  up  the  telegram  into  a  genteel  little  fan. 

"  He  ought  to  come  home  of tener  to  rest ;  he 
needs  the  change  as  much  as  other  men  who  do 
strenuous  mental  labor,"  added  Mrs.  Travis. 

"It  isn't  so  much  the  strenuous  labor  in  his 
case  as  it's  the  whirligig  and  sudden  tumble  of 
love  affairs." 

The  mother  was  quickened  by  apprehension. 

"  Father  Travis!  What  do  you  mean? "  she 
cried. 

"  I  mean  that  he  was  in  love  with  that  Dolliver 
[252] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

girl;  I  could  see  it  as  plain  as  anything,  when  he 
was  here  at  Christmas." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  proposed  to  her  and  was 
refused?  "  gasped  Mrs.  Travis.  The  idea  was  too 
monstrous  for  belief.  It  were  bad  enough  for 
Benedict  to  entertain  an  attachment  for  such  a 
person;  but  that  she  should  or  even  could  spurn 
an  offer  from  him !  Her  husband  roused  her. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that ;  but  I 
knew  he  had  it  bad,  from  the  way  he  evaded  my 
inquiries."  The  major  chuckled  good-naturedly. 
"  However  that  may  be,  he 's  been  turned  down 
anyway,  for  the  Duke  has  flown  off  with 
Matilda." 

"I  am  heartily  glad  of  it!"  said  the  resentful 
mother  with  a  glare  at  the  imaginary  figure  of 
any  duke  who  could  have  the  effrontery  to  thwart 
her  son  Benedict. 

They  did  not  have  time  to  pursue  the  matter 
further,  for  at  the  same  moment  the  object  of 
their  solicitude  burst  in  at  the  front  door. 

Benedict  allowed  himself  to  be  swayed  in  re- 
gard to  his  hunting  time.  His  father  assured  him 

[253] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

that  the  latter  half  of  October  was  the  choice  time 
for  bagging  the  best  game.  His  mother  said 
she  did  not  understand  how  he  could  go  from 
them  so  soon  after  arriving.  So  he  decided  to 
visit  with  them  the  first  two  weeks ;  and  what  great 
visiting  times  they  had,  surely  enough,  on  those 
deep,  vine-clad  verandas  at  Willow  Brook!  He 
reassured  his  mother  on  the  subject  of  her  who 
had  been  Miss  Dolliver,  but  was,  now,  the 
Duchess  of  Beauchamps ;  which  duty  was,  to  him, 
like  the  scourging  of  the  old  monks  in  their  life 
of  penitential  expiation. 

He  confided  to  his  father  his  secret  desire  to 
begin  work  upon  a  book  he  was  planning  on  the 
subject  of  "  Higher  Jurisprudence." 

"  An  ambitious  title,"  mused  his  father. 

"Too  big  for  me  to  tackle,  eh?"  Benedict 
laughed.  "  Seriously,  though,  I  have  been  tenta- 
tively mapping  out  something  of  the  kind.  All  I 
want  now  is  the  material  to  be  put  into  its  pages. 
It  seems  as  if  I  could  n't  get  paper  enough  in  my 
office  to  set  down  the  stuff  I  want  to  write." 

"  Say  it  all,  my  boy,  and  some  day  you  '11  wake 
[254] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

up  to  find  yourself  famous!"  said  Major  Travis, 
glowing  with  approbation. 

"It  is  not  the  glory  of  it  that  I 'm  after;  it  is 
the  need  of  it.  Some  of  our  good  lawyers  are  apt 
to  be  too  well  satisfied  with  a  result  that  yields 
them  a  good  round  sum.  We  must  do  more  than 
that;  we  must  not  stop,  pay  or  no  pay,  till  we 
have  reached  the  point  where  law  itself  is  dignified 
by  its  perfect  maintenance.  It  is  my  purpose  to 
make  this  an  authoritative  text-book;  it  will  re- 
quire years  of  looking  up  authorities.  A  man 
must  devote  the  best  part  of  his  life  to  such  a  task. 
As  I  was  saying  to  Helene  the  other  day,  I  want 
to  feel  when  I  leave  this  world  that  I  have  done 
something  to  make  it  better." 

"A  noble  aim,  my  son,  one  that  is  worthy  of 
your  brave  predecessors.  Stick  to  it  —  you'll 
win!" 

'  You  have  done  your  share  towards  it,  father ; 
you  have  done  more.  You  have  staked  your  life 
to  help  preserve  the  civil  rights  of  our  govern- 
ment. There  is  little  danger  to  personal  discom- 
fort in  what  I  propose  to  do." 

[255] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  It  makes  no  difference  in  what  way  we  serve 
our  country,  my  boy,  just  so  we  give  to  her  the 
best  there  is  in  us." 

Thus  the  two  weeks  slipped  by  under  the 
wholesome  influence  of  his  "good-soldier"  of  a 
father  and  the  benign  calm  of  nature's  own 
anodyne.  He  walked  for  hours  beside  the  crystal 
brook,  skirted  with  whispering  willows,  and  their 
mute  appeals  filled  him  with  renewed  hope  and 
energy,  a  desire  to  achieve  heights  he  had  not 
thought  of  before. 

The  hunting  days  came  all  too  soon;  but  he 
shouldered  his  sack  and  gun  with  the  same  craving 
for  out-door  life  that  had  governed  his  boyhood. 
By  the  time  he  had  compassed  this  round  of 
purely  physical  gratification,  the  crunching  of 
November  leaves  was  heard  under  foot.  The 
cutting  east  winds  from  the  fields  suggested  his 
return  to  the  city,  where  he  looked  forward  to  his 
work  with  a  clear  and  eager  welcome. 


[256] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN   EPOCH-MARKING  LETTER 

"  For  in  the  Market-place,  one  Dusk  of  Day, 
I  watch'd  the  Potter  thumping  his  wet  clay: 

And  with  its  all-obliterated  Tongue 
It  murmur'd  — '  Gently,  Brother,  gently,  pray!  '  " 

LUCY!  Lucy!" 
Edith's  palpitating  shriek  startled  the 
Hadley  household  as  effectively  as  an  explosion. 
She  had  reeled  against  the  wall  where  she  stood 
clutching  an  open  letter  which  the  postman  had 
just  left.  On  the  instant  Lucy  and  Sophie  were 
in  the  upper  hall,  peering  over  the  banisters  with 
white,  scared  faces. 

Edith,  however,  immediately  recovered  her- 
self. She  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs,  her  face 
radiant,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  joyous  excite- 
ment. Noting  these  signs  that  the  sudden  out- 
break had  been  occasioned  by  nothing  of  a 

[257] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

calamitous  nature,  alarm  gradually  faded  from 
the  sisters'  faces,  to  give  place  to  mingled 
curiosity  and  resentment  that  their  quiet  should 
have  been  so  outrageously  shocked. 

"I  do  know,"  Sophie  gulped,  for  her  heart 
was  still  thumping  painfully,  "that  you '11  be  the 
death  of  me!  What  in  the  world 's  the  matter? " 

By  this  time  Edith  had  joined  them.  She 
stood  patting  her  breast  and  panting  for  breath, 
the  other  two  impatiently  urging  her  to  satisfy 
their  curiosity. 

"  Oh,  girls !  "  gasped  Edith.  "  The  most  amaz- 
ing thing!  —  the  most  wonderful  —  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about? "  Lucy  sharply 
demanded. 

"  I  've  got  the  most  astounding,  unheard-of 
news ! " 

"  It  must  be  good,  then,  if  it 's  novel," 
opined  Sophie. 

"Well,  it's  something  that  will  stir  up  this 
prosy  family,  if  anything  can,"  Edith  began, 
trying  desperately  to  compose  herself. 

Curiosity  could  no  longer  withstand  the  siege. 
[258] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  What  is  it?  For  goodness'  sake,  tell  us  what 
has  happened!"  clamored  the  two  eager  voices. 

"It's  a  letter  from  Matilda!" 

This  announcement  was  so  inadequate  that 
Lucy  and  Sophie  merely  stared,  and  their 
puzzled  silence  had  the  effect  of  steadying  Edith 
at  once. 

She  went  on:  "She  wants  me  to  make  her 
a  visit  for  the  whole  winter  —  stay  with  them  in 
that  palatial  home,  go  to  the  French  grand 
opera,  take  singing  lessons  of  the  best  teachers 
in  Paris  —  oh,  cracky!"  She  jumped  up  and 
down  in  overjoyed  transport  at  the  prospect. 

"  Sakes  alive!"  marvelled  Sophie,  round-eyed. 
"  Where 's  the  money  to  come  from,  I  'd  like  to 
know!" 

"  Sophie,  Sophie,"  Lucy  impatiently  repri- 
manded. "  Let  her  tell  it  all.  Don't  interrupt." 

Edith  came  suddenly  to  earth  again. 

"  That 's  all,"  said  she  in  her  natural  voice. 
"Isn't  it  enough?" 

Lucy  suggested  that  the  three  retire  to  her 
room  to  read  over  the  letter  and  hold  a  family 

[259] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

consultation.  "  There  will  be  so  much  to  do  to 
get  ready,"  she  said. 

"Get  ready!"  Sophie  cried.  "You  can't  be 
thinking  she  is  really  going  to  accept?  "  But 
she  suddenly  realized  that  her  objections  were 
as  ineffective  as  so  many  wax  bullets,  so  she 
subsided. 

"  That  is  the  first  and  most  important  ques- 
tion to  consider,"  Edith  interposed  —  "Can  I 
go?" 

"  Why  not?"  queried  Lucy  in  a  tone  designed 
to  bring  every  possible  obstacle  to  the  front  for 
immediate  inspection.  "Does  Matilda  say  she 
will  pay  the  travelling  expenses?" 

"  She  does  n't  mention  how  I  am  to  get  there. 
She  says,  '  Take  one  of  the  good  Hamburg- 
American  steamers  from  New  York,  sailing 
between  the  seventh  and  fifteenth  of  November. 
The  trip  is  so  much  quicker,  and  thus  you  will 
escape  much  of  the  discomfort  of  seasickness.' 
I  wish  she  had  asked  me  earlier,  I  'm  almost 
afraid  to  cross  in  November!" 

"  Don't  look  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth,"  inter- 
[260] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

posed  Sophie.  "I  suppose  I'll  have  to  skimp 
some  more;  but  for  the  life  of  me,  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  skimp  any  skimpier  than  I'm 
skimping  now." 

"No  one  need  worry  about  anything,"  said 
hopeful  Lucy.  "An  offer  like  that  does  not 
come  to  a  girl  more  than  once  in  a  lifetime. 
The  means  will  be  provided."  Whereupon  Edith 
flung  her  arms  about  her  sister. 

Sophie  could  no  longer  withstand  the  in- 
fection of  their  eagerness;  her  pessimistic  view 
of  the  matter  swung  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
and  she  became  more  enthusiastic,  if  that  were 
possible,  than  either  of  the  other  two. 

Said  she:  "Just  think  how  mother  would 
rejoice  if  she  could  only  know  that  at  last  her 
darling  baby's  hope  of  going  to  Europe  to  study 
was  about  to  be  fulfilled ! "  And,  melted  by  the 
recollection,  she  added :  "  I  'm  going  to  help 
raise  the  money.  I  '11  pack  up  those  two  poems 
and  that  old  story  'Aunt  Eleanor's  Mission' 
to-day ;  I  '11  send  them  to  the  '  Home,  Sweet 
Home'  magazine,  and  see  what  comes  back." 

[261] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  That  is  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you,  dear," 
said  the  gentle  Lucy.  Edith  embraced  her  other 
sister,  also,  though  with  almost  certain  doubt  of 
the  result  of  her  good  intention. 

"Now,  what  shall  we  do  first?" 
'You,  Sophie,  go  and  attend  to  your  manu- 
scripts.   Edith,  gather  all  the  best  clothes  which 
you  are  likely  to  need." 

"Regardless  of  ownership,"  from  Sophie,  as 
she  flew  down-stairs,  the  entire  responsibility 
of  preparation  weighing  heavily  upon  her 
shoulders. 

"You'll  need  a  steamer  trunk,"  Lucy  tried 
to  enumerate;  "your  big  school  trunk  is  per- 
fectly good.  Oh,  such  a  lot  of  things  you  ought 
to  have,  and  hardily  more  than  a  week  to  get 
ready!" 

"  I  am  perfectly  overcome,"  said  Edith. 
Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  there  was  a  little 
break  in  her  voice. 

"Lie  down  there  on  the  couch,  Deedie;  it  is 
the  sudden  surprise.  Don't  think  of  anything 
for  a  few  minutes.  Try  to  sleep ;  that 's  a  dear. 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

I  '11  attend  to  your  things  for  you.  I  '11  arrange 
everything.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going!" 

It  created  a  very  great  sensation  in  this  simple 
home  of  the  Hadleys.  Everything  had  to  be 
turned  upside  down  to  get  the  child  comfort- 
ably, and  suitably  "  off." 

"  The  necessary  money,  of  course,  is  the  main 
point,"  whispered  Lucy  when  Sophie  returned 
to  take  part  in  the  consultation,  for  Edith  had 
by  this  time  fallen  asleep. 

"  Perhaps  Helene  can  offer  some  way  of  pro- 
curing it,"  said  the  eldest  Hadley  girl,  "she's 
always  so  ready  and  correct  in  her  advice  to 
people.  She  ought  to  have  been  a  lawyer  and 
gone  into  partnership  with  Benedict.  You 
know,  I've  just  been  thinking  that  perhaps  he 
would  advance  the  funds.  I'd  just  as  lief  ask 
him  myself." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  for  the  world!"  returned 
timid  Lucy.  "  I  would  rather  borrow  it  of  some 
one  in  a  regular  business-like  manner  and  pay 
interest." 

"That's  just  like  you,  honey-bee;  always  so 
[263] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

sensible  and  methodical.  If  only  my  literary 
efforts  materialize,  I  '11  be  able  to  reimburse  the 
whole  wad ! " 

"  Let  us  hope  and  pray,"  replied  Lucy,  but 
not  in  a  very  hopeful  tone.  Sophie's  literary 
endeavors  had  long  since  passed  from  the  hope- 
ful stage — through  the  process  of  rejection. 

"  It 's  come  to  me  very  forcibly,"  pursued 
Sophie,  "that  we  can't  afford  to  let  such  an 
opportunity  slip  by  in  our  family.  Just  think 
what  it  might  do  for  her!  She  is  just  the  one 
to  make  the  venture ;  she 's  the  best  looking ;  she 
may  make  a  splendid  match  over  there,  and 
marry  a  marquis  or  a  count  or  some  such 
grandee." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Lucy,  smothering  a  laugh. 
"I  will  be  satisfied  if  she  comes  home  with  a 
much  improved  voice  and  takes  her  place  among 
the  artistes  of  Baltimore." 

"Well,  I  suppose  that's  more  likely,  and 
more  in  keeping  with  our  station  in  life." 

The  two  girls  went  on  whispering  for  nearly 
an  hour,  when  finally  Edith  opened  her  eyes. 

[264] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"What  has  happened?"  she  said,  rising  and 
looking  a  little  dazed. 

"  Just  think  a  minute,  and  you  '11  know,"  said 
Sophie,  with  a  significant  smile. 

"  Don't  stop  to  think  too  long,  anybody,"  ad- 
monished Lucy.  "We  would  do  better  to  'get 
busy,'  as  you  slangy  people  say." 

The  next  day  they  considered  a  plan  for 
obtaining  domestic  help  during  these  eventful 
ten  days.  A  kindly  neighbor  who  had  heard 
of  their  sudden  windfall  recommended  a  young 
girl  she  knew,  who  would  save  them  untold 
steps,  and  was  very  reasonable  in  her  charges. 
"  She  is  a  light-colored  person  about  seventeen 
or  eighteen  years  old,  but  quite  presentable  and 
capable.  Her  name  is  Lottie  Medella." 

"  She's  just  the  sort  of  girl  we  need.  We'll 
engage  her  at  once,"  decided  Sophie. 

"  She  will  be  such  a  help  to  me,"  said  Lucy. 
"  I  could  tell  her  about  the  meals,  and  she  might 
go  ahead  with  them;  while  we  devote  ourselves 
entirely  to  Edith's  preparation." 

"Everything  seems  to  point  propitiously  to 
[265] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

my  going,  does  it  not,  dears?"  said  Edith,  hope- 
fully. 

"Why  should  it  not,  dear?  You  have  always 
been  faithful  to  your  responsibilities;  you  are 
amiable  and  agreeable;  sweet  in  your  manner. 
And  you  always  make  friends  wherever  you  go 
with  your  pretty  voice."  Lucy  was  expressing 
her  sincere  and  loyal  sentiments  toward  her  little 
sister. 

"  That 's  a  dig  for  me,"  remarked  Sophie. 
"  But  I  don't  mind.  I  suppose  I  '11  never  be 
anything  but  a  blunder  bus.  Still,  if  my  poems 
and  things  don't  come  up  to  the  top-notch  of 
excellence  required  by  the  '  Home,  Sweet  Home  ' 
monthly,  I  '11  start  in  on  a  calendar  —  that 's  a 
good  hard  sort  of  'picking  and  stealing'  busi- 
ness not  exactly  approved  of  by  our  Catechism, 
but  remunerative  and  safe,  like  grafting." 

The  paragon  of  assistance  appeared  in  the 
shape  of  Lottie  Medella,  who  appeared  eager  to 
take  hold  at  once. 

A  spirit  of  willingness  is  always  encouraging, 
so  Lucy  showed  her  where  everything  was,  and 

[266] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

told  her  what  to  prepare  for  dinner,  leaving  her 
with  a  sense  of  comfort  and  affluence  which  was 
quite  new  to  the  Hadley  home-maker. 

" That's  right,  Miss  Lucy;  just  you  go  'way 
and  leave  me  be.  I  '11  get  up  the  finest  dinner 
ever  you  tasted.  I  kin  cook,  I  kin ! " 

Lucy  obeyed  orders,  and  went  right  upstairs 
to  report. 

"I  think  she  is  going  to  do  very  well.  She 
says  she  can  cook,  and  that  is  a  great  relief." 

The  girls  all  busied  themselves  with  their 
various  tasks;  Edith  was  sorting  out  her  ward- 
robe, Sophie  was  polishing  and  renovating  all  of 
Edith's  boot-ware,  while  Lucy  was  writing  a 
note  to  Helene  Doyle.  Every  now  and  then, 
strains  of  melodious  music  coupled  with  the 
clashing  of  tin-pans  and  dishes,  floated  up  to 
them  from  the  kitchen. 

;'  That  sounds  hopeful,"  said  Sophie,  as  she 
was  giving  a  slender  patent-leather  vamp  a  final 
rub.  "We  are  getting  on  so  well,  perhaps 
Deedie  and  I  can  go  out  this  afternoon  to  hunt 
up  steamer  trunks  and  rugs." 

[267] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  That  would  be  a  good  idea,"  assented  Lucy, 
addressing  and  sealing  her  letter.  "  You  might 
also  look  around  for  some  of  those  dear  little 
motoring-hats,  such  as  Helene  has.  They  wear 
them  so  much  on  deck  now-a-days,  and  with  the 
veil  attached,  one  is  well  protected  from  wind 
and  spray." 

"Edith  would  look  too  cute  for  anything  in 
one.  Her  hair  is  so  fluffy  and  curly,  she  'd  look 
pretty  with  nothing  on  her  head;  but  she'd  be 
more  comfortable  this  time  of  year  with  a 
bonnet.  She  would  look  just  coy,"  was  Sophie's 
flattering  opinion. 

They  sat  down  to  a  very  satisfactory  dinner. 
Lottie  Medella  had  proved  true  to  her  word. 
Everything  was  well-seasoned  and  cooked  to 
perfection. 

"What  a  comfort  it  is  to  sit  down  to  a  good 
meal  that  Lucy  hasn't  been  stewing  over," 
declared  Sophie. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  keep  Lottie  after 
I  am  gone.  You  might  as  well,"  proposed 
Edith;  for  knowing  in  what  regal  style  she  was 

[268] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

going  to  spend  the  winter,  her  sisterly  conscience 
prompted  the  suggestion. 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  how  she  pans  out,  first,"  was 
Sophie's  unintentionally  punning  remark. 

'  Yes,"  agreed  Lucy,  "  your  not  being  here 
will  mean  less  to  do,  too.  We  might  as  well  go 
on  practising  economy,  any  way  till  the  money 
we  will  have  to  borrow  is  paid  back." 

The  two  girls  went  out  for  the  afternoon,  and 
Lucy  busied  herself  with  the  thousand  and  one 
things  that  are  to  be  done  before  taking  a  jour- 
ney abroad.  In  her  various  perigrinations,  she 
crossed  the  kitchen  several  times  and  once 
stopped  to  rest  and  listen  to  the  dusky  Medella's 
talk  while  she  was  drying  the  dishes.  It  was 
something  Lottie  "  did  want  to  tell  her  so  bad." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Lucy  with  fatal  show 
of  interest. 

"Well,  Mis'  Lucy,  it's  something  I  ca'ant 
make  out,  'cause  it  looks  to  me  kind  o'  umpos- 
sible.  That  Mis'  Mannin'  I  told  you  about,  she 
had  that  old  girl  who  used  to  drop  in  now  and 
then  to  see  her  old  Missis.  Well,  she  used  to 

[269] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tell  me  the  most  fearful  yarns!  She  tole  me  she 
was  just  thirty-six  years  old,  and  said  as  how 
she'd  worked  fo'teen  years  at  Mis'  Brown's, 
and  twenty-two  years  at  Mis'  Sellers,  and  an- 
other twelve  years  at  old  Mr.  Tucker's  who  was 
a  widier.  Now  how  kin  that  be,  Mis'  Lucy? 
She'd  been  working  out  forty-eight  years  and 
she  was  only  thirty-six!" 

"  She  must  have  been  prevaricating,"  said 
Lucy,  looking  shocked. 

"  Well,  another  time  she  came  in  while  I  was 
entertainin'  three  gen'lemen  callers  one  Sunday 
afternoon,  while  Mis'  Mannin'  was  at  the  ceme- 
tery puttin'  flowers  on  Mr.  Mannin's  grave.  I 
says, — 'cause  I  thought  I  must  inter juce  her 
when  she  sat  right  down  in  my  kitchen,  finding 
Mis'  Mannin'  was  out, — '  'Mirandy,  this  is  Mr. 
Johnson,  from  Washington.' 

"  *  How  de  do,  Mr.  Johnson,  I  'm  mighty  glad 
to  know  you!  You  say  you'se  from  Washing- 
ton? It's  a  wonder  I  never  met  you  befo'.  I 
was  bawn  in  Washington ! ' 

"Then  when  she  came  to  Mr.  Brown, —  he 
[270] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  from  Atlanta  —  she  says  to  him:  'Why, 
Mr.  Brown,  I  'm  powerful  glad  to  meet  you. 
And  you  say  you  'se  from  Atlanta !  Now,  ain't 
that  funny,  I  know  Atlanta  like  my  pocket;  I 
was  bawn  there  myself! ' 

"The  last  one  was  Mr.  Jones.  I  thinks  to 
myself,  now  I  wonder  if  she'll  sing  that  same 
song  to  him!  He  came  from  way  down  in  New 
O 'leans. 

"  *  Mr.  Jones ! '  she  says,  tickled  as  kin  be, 
*  Why,  I  'm  deelighted  to  meet  you.  I  spent 
most  my  childhood  in  New  O'leans!  Bless  me, 
I  was  bawn  in  that  there  city ! ' 

"  She  was  bawn  in  three  different  places!  Did 
you  ever  hear  the  beat  of  that,  Mis'  Lucy?  " 

So  Lottie  Medella  proved  a  source  of  amuse- 
ment as  well  as  a  comfort. 

They  progressed  rapidly  for  several  days 
when  one  morning  the  door  bell  rang  and  a  mes- 
senger boy  brought  a  sealed  letter  addressed  to 
Miss  Edith  S.  Hadley. 

"It's  from  Willow  Brook,"  she  said,  as  she 
tore  open  the  envelope.  In  it  she  found  a  little 

[271  ] 


note  from  Major  and  Mrs.  Travis  in  which  they 
united  in  wishing  her  all  kinds  of  successes  in 
her  visit  and  study  abroad;  and  lying  within  its 
tiny  folds,  was  a  correspondingly  small  strip  of 
paper, —  a  check  for  three  hundred  dollars! 

"Oh!"  cried  the  three  girls  in  a  chorus. 

"  It 's  all  Benedict's  doings ! "  said  Sophie, 
"  He  goes  to  see  Helene  every  day,  and  she  Jj 
put  a  flea  in  his  ear." 

Lucy  said  with  pardonable  pride,  "  Did  n'1 
I  tell  you  there  was  no  need  to  worry,  that  the 
means  were  always  provided?" 

Edith  felt  that  this  concatenation  of  fortui- 
tous surprises  held  some  deeply  prophetic  mean- 
ing for  her.  Her  girlish  ideas  took  fantastic 
flights  before  she  said, 

"What  shall  I  do  to  show  them  my 
appreciation?" 

"  Sit  right  down  and  write  your  acknowledge- 
ment of  the  gift  in  graceful  and  grateful  terms,' 
said  Lucy. 

"  And  don't  spell  'grateful,'  g-r-e-a-t,"  warned 
Sophie. 

[272] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

This  substantial  interest  on  the  part  of  the 
Travis  family  hastened  the  preparations  and 
sped  the  departure.  Little  Edith  finally  sailed 
away,  accompanied  to  the  ship  by  her  two  sis- 
ters and  her  best  friends.  There  were  no  tears 
shed  on  either  side.  Every  one  wore  a  smiling, 
happy  countenance  as  they  wished  her  a  bon 
voyage. 


[273] 


CHAPTER  XV 

HELENE  STEERS  THE  CRAFT  INTO  MORE 
PEACEFUL    WATERS 

"  Iram  indeed  is  gone  with  all  his  Rose, 
And  Jamshyd's  Sev'n-ring'd  Cup  where  no  one  knows; 

But  still  a  Ruby  kindles  in  the  Fine, 
And  marey  a  Garden  by  the  Water  blows." 

NOW  that  Edith  Hadley  had  sailed  Paris- 
ward,  Benedict  refrained  from  frequent 
visits  to  her  home  for  several  reasons,  —  first, 
because  she  was  undoubtedly  the  most  attractive 
element  there,  from  a  young  man's  point  of 
view,  and  also  because  he  knew  that  her  weekly 
letters  would  be  redolent  with  accounts  of  the 
Due  de  Beauchamps'  home  and  of  the  one  being 
whom  he  was  trying  to  forget. 

Besides,  it  was  not  so  much  amusement  which 
he   sought,    now,    as    sympathetic   diversion   of 

[274] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

thought.  Helene  offered  him  this  more  than 
any  other  woman  of  his  acquaintance.  When 
his  mind  was  not  occupied  with  its  most  ab- 
sorbing topic,  his  contemplated  book,  he  formed 
the  habit  of  thinking,  during  his  hours  of  leisure 
and  solitude,  no  longer  of  Matilda,  but  of 
Helene  Doyle.  It  was  not  without  a  struggle 
that  he  trained  himself  to  reject  the  one  from 
his  mind  and  admit  the  other.  For  he  claimed, 
after  much  inspection  of  his  own  inner  self,  that 
the  will  can  be  subdued  and  governed  as  surely 
as  the  other  component  faculties  of  the  intellect, 
if  the  desire  to  accomplish  it  be  sufficiently 
earnest  and  persistent. 

What  a  friend  she  had  been  to  him,  espous- 
ing his  every  cause,  approving  and  inciting  his 
successes,  condoning  and  extending  the  hand  of 
fellowship  in  his  rare  defeats!  Truly,  if  she  had 
been  a  sister,  she  could  not  have  stood  in  more 
perfect  accord  with  him. 

But  there  his  sentiments  toward  her  stopped 
bluntly.  The  feelings  he  had  experienced  for 
Matilda  were  so  immeasurably  different.  He 

[275] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

had  never  caught  the  slightest  proof  of  Helene's 
emotional  nature.  Her  attitude  toward  him  had 
always  been  reserved,  though  friendly;  yet  her 
friendliness  sometimes  made  one  doubt  the  exact 
location  of  her  heart;  it  seemed  so  entangled 
within  the  delicate  meshes  of  her  mind.  Side 
by  side  with  that  other  personality,  aglow  with 
the  warmth  of  life  and  ardent  love,  when  she 
had  found  the  one  who  could  kindle  it,  Helene 
stood  like  a  pleasing  but  cold  statue.  He  felt 
he  could  not  approach  her  with  words  of  love. 
It  was  better  so  for  him;  there  would  come  no 
violent  emotion  between  them  to  disturb  the  even 
current  of  his  all-engrossing  themes  for  his 
work.  He  had  yet  to  learn  that  a  heart,  noble 
and  sensitive  like  Helene's,  reveals  itself  only 
with  reserve.  He  was  satisfied  to  let  their 
purely  platonic  friendship  remain  unchanged. 

During  the  following  Winter,  society  in  Balti- 
more kept  up  its  regular  ping-pong  of  social 
intercourse  with  a  remarkable  degree  of  sym- 
metrical platitudes.  The  daily  newspapers  took 
particular  pains  to  report,  with  acrid  joy,  the 

[276] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

movements  of  the  now  well-known  town  celebri- 
ties, the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Beauchamps.  All 
members  of  society  read  of  them  avidly  and 
marvelled. 

Helene  and  Benedict  partook  rarely  of  any 
social  pleasures.  They  seemed  to  have  suddenly 
discovered  other  modes  of  entertainment.  The 
fact  was  duly  commented  upon.  Mrs.  Doyle 
did  not  quite  know  whether  or  not  she  approved 
of  this  seclusion. 

"People  are  beginning  to  talk  about  it;  they 
say  you  and  Benedict  ought  to  be  engaged  if 
you  are  not  already.  I  don't  know  what  to  say 
about  it!"  protested  the  ignored  mother  who 
was  governed  by  the  "  what  they  say  's  "  of  the 
community. 

"It  must  be  emphatically  denied,"  was 
Helene's  reply,  "  for  there  is  no  truth  in  it." 

"  In  that  case,  I  'm  not  at  all  surprised  that 
people  talk.  I  suppose  they  wonder,  as  I  do, 
what  in  the  world  he  means  by  coming  here 
three  or  four  evenings  a  week,  and  accompany- 
ing you  whenever  you  do  go  out  to  any  function, 

[277] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

if  you  are  not  engaged.  What  do  you  talk 
about,  pray?  —  not  of  her,  I  hope?" 

"  Sometimes  of  Matilda,  and  sometimes  of 
other  things.  There  are  many  subjects,  mother, 
upon  which  two  persons  as  intimately  associated 
as  Benedict  and  I  have  been,  can  talk  with 
interest  rather  than  discuss  friends,  their  virtues, 
and  their  faults,  as  well  as  their  idiosyncrasies." 

"There  you  go  again!  It  always  seems, 
Helene,  that  when  you  talk  with  me  your  words 
are  couched  in  reproach.  He  is  the  one  you 
should  reproach,  not  your  mother!" 

"  It  was  not  spoken  in  that  spirit.  You 
should  not  take  my  words  to  yourself.  You 
know  that  I  have  no  other  thought  than  your 
happiness  and  well-being.  Have  I  not  tried  to 
prove  it,  mother?" 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,  you  have;  but  it  vexes 
me  to  think  of  Benedict  coming  here  night  after 
night,  when  you  tell  me  he  never  broaches  the 
subject  of  an  engagement.  I'm  afraid  you 
don't  encourage  him  enough." 

[278] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  He  has  all  the  encouragement  he  needs," 
smiled  Helene;  and  Mrs.  Doyle  knew  that  her 
daughter  was  withholding  her  secret  even  from 
her.  It  was  perhaps  too  new,  too  fresh  in  her 
mind,  the  mother  thought,  to  be  disclosed.  But 
she  made  up  her  mind  that  the  next  time  she 
was  questioned  upon  the  matter,  she  would  reply 
with  cautious  insinuation :  "  They  understand 
each  other  better  than  we." 

Helene  would  certainly  not  have  sanctioned 
her  mother's  decision,  if  she  had  known  of  it, 
for  she  felt,  now  more  than  ever,  that  she  and 
Benedict  never  understood  each  other  more  im- 
perfectly. From  the  very  first  he  had  spoken 
to  her  freely,  unreservedly,  without  fear  or  re- 
straint, of  his  esteem  for  Matilda  Dolliver.  He 
knew  Helene's  approval  of  her.  She  had  seen 
his  growing  interest.  She  had  watched  the  tell- 
tale expression  of  his  eloquent  countenance.  He 
had  come  to  her  as  a  confidante,  and  she  had 
encouraged  him  and  given  him  hope!  But  in 
his  disappointment  he  had  remained  silent.  It 

[279] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  she  who  had  understood.  The  perfect 
entente  between  them  had  not  been  mutual. 

Even  now,  when  he  came  to  spend  the  even- 
ing with  her,  it  was  nearly  always  with  the  for- 
bidden subject  that  their  conversation  began.  It 
was  then  that  Helene,  with  the  heroism  of  im- 
minent danger,  and  the  instinctive  reticence  of 
a  highly  sensitive  nature,  had  uttered  the  daily 
prayer:  "I  will  be  strong,  I  will  be  just,  I  will 
be  firm."  For  she  earnestly  believed  that  by 
this  means  alone  each  one  of  us  must  work  out 
his  own  redemption.  The  weak  habit  of  crying 
or  evincing  by  word  or  look  the  sore  need  of 
sympathy,  lessens  more  and  more  one's  power 
of  resistance. 

It  was  this  trait  in  Benedict  which  she  most 
admired.  Defeat  is  hard  to  the  habitually  suc- 
cessful; but  he  was  bearing  his  with  manly  for- 
titude. An  appeal  to  his  keen  sense  of 
propriety  and  his  strong  character  having  failed, 
she  tried  by  the  subtle  weapon  of  extreme  in- 
timacy to  divert  his  mind  into  other  channels  of 
deepest  interest  to  himself.  He  began,  little  by 

[280] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

little,  to  unfold  to  her  his  project  for  his  great 
book.  When  she  succeeded  in  eliciting  from 
him  all  the  aspirations  of  his  earnest  desire,  she 
saw  him  again  as  he  was  in  the  days  of  his 
boy's  enthusiasm;  the  words  fell  from  his  tongue 
with  flowing  fecundity,  and  his  young  spirit 
shone  unclouded  by  any  doubt. 

It  was  then  she  grew  nearest  to  him ;  her  quick, 
receptive,  and  responsive  nature  acted  like  fuel 
to  his  inspiration  and  they  would  talk  far  into 
the  night,  heedless  of  time  and  the  surrounding 
silence,  while  Mrs.  Doyle  slept  and  dreamed  airy 
visions  above  the  sound  of  their  subdued  voices. 

That  great  mountain  of  emotional  stolidity 
which  she  had  erected  against  him  was  now  her 
bulwark  of  defence.  Yet,  often  in  the  night, 
after  a  long  intercourse  of  thought  with  him, 
her  subconscious  thought  would  dwell  upon 
their  past  associations.  They  were  children 
once  more,  playing  together  in  the  Willow 
Brook  meadows,  enjoying  like  pleasures,  calling 
each  other  by  endearing  names,  welding  the 
union  of  two  hearts  that  can  only  be  torn 

[281] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

asunder  by  the  inscrutable  workings  of  destiny. 
Then  the  barrier  of  defence  vanished,  and  life 
levelled  itself  into  the  smoothness  of  a  gently 
undulating  valley.  She  communed  with  him 
secretly  in  those  quiet  hours;  she  almost  felt  the 
responsive  current  of  his  thought.  She  knew 
and  felt  his  daily  actions.  She  pictured  him  in 
his  home  at  Willow  Brook,  in  his  office,  where 
she  had  visited  him,  in  his  apartments  at  Chel- 
tenham Court,  where  he  sometimes  invited  his 
coterie  of  near  friends  for  a  quiet  game  of 
bridge  or  a  musical  evening.  His  whole  life  and 
thoughts  were  reflected  in  her  mind  by  the  action 
of  that  keenest  searchlight,  intellectual  sympathy. 

She  had  felt  the  power  of  Matilda's  beauty, 
on  herself  and  on  him.  She  knew  what  an  ad- 
mirer he  was  of  that  glowing  index  of  youth  and 
life;  therefore  she  had  laid  down  at  the  feet  of 
Beauty,  her  claim  of  long  association,  and  upon 
the  Altar  of  Friendship. 

Benedict  had  never  given  her  a  compliment 
referring  to  her  personal  appearance;  she  had 
never  known  of  his  expressing  himself  on  the 

[282] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

subject  to  any  one  else.  They  had  become 
friends  in  childhood,  grown  up  almost  side  by 
side,  and  taken  each  other  for  granted  as  one 
does  the  members  of  one's  own  family.  Yet 
she  would  have  sacrificed  much  of  his  mental 
commendation  for  one  look  of  admiring  tribute 
such  as  he  had  so  liberally  bestowed  on  Matilda. 

Tell  a  plain,  intellectual  woman  that  she  is 
pretty,  or  looks  especially  well  in  this  or  that 
costume  or  coiffure,  and  she  will  cherish  the  com- 
pliment above  all  other  praise.  Womankind, 
even  the  strongest,  are  susceptible  to  that  pecu- 
liar form  of  luxury,  personal  admiration;  even 
though  they  may  dogmatize  at  length  on  the 
superiority  of  brain,  talent,  pedigree,  whatever 
you  will,  over  the  mere  hazardous  gift  of  Beauty. 

Helene  Doyle  was  not  a  plain  woman;  far 
from  it.  She  was  tall,  of  exquisite  mould,  deli- 
cate and  distinguished;  but  her  chief  attraction 
lay  in  the  unfailing  brilliancy  and  keenness  of 
her  mind.  As  old  M.  Del  Bondio  had  gallantly 
put  it,  she  was  the  pearl,  with  no  outward  glow, 
but  the  soft  lustre  of  intrinsic  worth. 

[283] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  Winter  waned,  the  meridianal  sun  waxed 
warm  again;  Nature  put  forth  her  buds  of  life 
and  laughter  and 

"  All  memory,  sifting  with  Time's  gentle  art, 
Till  He  who  guides  the  swallow's  wintry  wing 
Gives  to  our  grief-winged  love,  as  sure  as  Spring." 

Helene  and  Benedict's  relations  had  been  a 
subject  of  comment  throughout  the  Winter.  The 
return  of  Spring  naturally  created  a  spirit  of 
expectancy  among  their  friends,  though  none 
dared  to  broach  the  subject  to  either  of  them. 

"Anything  so  persistent  and  assiduous  as 
Benedict's  attentions  to  Helene  ought  to  ripen 
into  a  deeper  affection,"  said  Lucy  Hadley  one 
day,  as  they  were  speaking  of  them. 

"  I  think,"  said  Sophie,  in  a  tone  of  some 
vexation,  "that  life  has  been  too  monotonously 
pleasant  since  Matilda  and  Edith  have  gone 
away.  I  wonder  what  will  happen  next!" 

"  Not  the  announcement  of  their  engagement, 
I  feel  sure,"  pursued  Lucy  in  a  positive  tone 
which  expressed  finality. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  queried  Sophie. 
[284] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Because  Benedict  was  too  deeply  in  love  with 
Matilda  to  engage  himself  so  soon  to  any  one, 
even  to  Helene,"  she  explained  after  a  moment's 
reflection. 

''That's  queer!  How  do  you  know  he  was 
so  dead  in  love  with  Matilda?  Did  he  ever  tell 

you?" 

"  No.  But  I  have  an  intuitive  feeling  that  he 
was,  from  the  way  he  always  acted  in  her 
presence." 

'You  sentimental  midget!  I  don't  think  he 
was  so  raving  mad  about  her;  if  he  had  been  he 
wouldn't  have  found  such  a  quick  antidote  in 
Helene.  I  met  him  coming  out  of  her  house  the 
other  day,  looking  as  chirp  and  smiling  as  you 
please.  He  asked  about  Edith  and  I  said  she 
was  coming  home  in  June." 

:<  That  will  be  our  next  excitement,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Lucy. 

"  I  don't  see  much  excitement  about  that,  un- 
less she  comes  back  My  Lady  Somebody-or- 
other." 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  intimation  of  any- 
[285] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

thing  of  the  kind.  She 's  mentioned  only  receiv- 
ing frequent  letters  from  Elmer,"  said  Lucy. 

"  That 's  a  pity ! "  commiserated  Sophie.  "  I  '11 
have  to  sing  her  the  song  about  'Little  Polly 
Perkins  of  Abbington  Green ' : 

'  In  six  months  she  marri-ed,  this  hard  heart-ed  girl, 
It  was  not  a  wicount  and  it  was  a  n'earl. 
It  was  not  a  baronet,  but  a  shade  or  two  wuss, 
'T  was  a  bow-legged  conductor,  on  a  two-penny  bus !  ' 

"  Only  in  her  case  it  '11  not  be  '  a  bow-legged 
conductor  on  a  two-penny  bus,'  I  hope.  But 
perhaps  it  will  be  Saw-bones  Elmer  Rasburn!" 

"  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised,"  said  Lucy, 
disregarding  her  elder  sister's  flippant  allusions 
to  Edith's  matrimonial  prospects.  "  I  will  be  so 
glad  to  see  her,  that  I  will  rejoice  in  the  fact 
that  she  still  belongs  to  us,  and  to  no  one  else  yet." 

"  So  will  I ! "  came  emphatically  from  Sophie. 
"  But  I  can't  help  having  a  little  fun  out  of 
you  two;  you  are  so  full  of  lovelornity!  I  sup- 
pose if  Elmer  walks  off  with  Edith,  some- 
body '11  come  along  and  carry  you  away !  —  that 
new  friend  of  Benedict's,  he  calls  the  Philos- 

[286] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

opher.  I  saw  him  making  sheeps'-eyes  at  you 
when  Benedict  brought  him  to  call  the  other 
evening;  and  I  suppose  I  '11  be  left  alone  in  my 
fading  glory,  like  that  foolish  little  Japanese  idol 
of  yours." 

"  Sophie,  you  do  have  the  most  ridiculous 
ideas!  I  presume  it  is  owing  to  your  imagina- 
tive mind.  Why  don't  you  write  a  novel  and 
become  a  second  Jane  Austen?  There  is  plenty 
of  demand  for  a  good,  stirring  one  nowadays." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Sophie,  "  when  I  get  suffi- 
cient material  out  of  the  experiences  of  my 
family." 

One  day  during  the  last  week  of  June,  Edith 
Hadley  returned  from  France.  There  was  no 
one  to  meet  her  at  the  New  York  dock  but 
young  Dr.  Rasburn,  and  she  greeted  him  with 
a  look  of  happiness,  his  being  the  first  face  from 
home.  They  had  a  long  waiting  session  with  the 
custom-house  officers;  she  had  brought  home 
presents  for  every  one,  from  herself  as  well  as 
Matilda.  Elmer  told  her  she  must  be  a  stanch 
supporter  of  the  high  tariff,  she  had  so  many 

[287] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

things  "  to  declare,"  —  using  the  foreign  term,  — 
and  seeming  to  take  so  much  joy  and  animation 
in  the  performance. 

Her  sisters  did  not  feel  able  to  go  and  meet 
her,  but  they  were  just  as  glad  to  have  her  home 
again.  Such  glowing  accounts  as  she  gave  them 
of  her  pleasures  and  achievements  in  Paris !  She 
would  have  to  do  nothing  but  talk  for  a  week, 
before  she  could  give  them  the  slightest  im- 
pression of  what  her  winter  abroad  had  been 
to  her! 

Benedict  and  Helene  both  came  to  see  her ;  and 
to  them  she  extolled  Matilda  and  her  husband 
and  his  parents,  who  were  all  joined  in  a  con- 
spiracy to  load  her  with  kindnesses,  bounties,  and 
attentions.  Matilda  was  the  same  superb  crea- 
ture; but  oh,  so  much  more  of  a  woman  of  the 
world. 

"  She  has  such  an  air  of  savoir  vivre,  and 
appears  everywhere  like  a  grande  dame.  When 
we  went  to  the  old  cathedral  on  the  lie  de  la 
Cite  on  high-festival  days,  the  fame  of  her 
beauty  seemed  to  have  preceded  her  even  there. 

[288] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

A  great  crowd  of  admirers  were  lined  up  on 
either  side  of  the  cathedral  portals  to  watch  her 
descend  from  her  car.  Monsieur  le  Due  acknowl- 
edged their  respectful  admiration  by  lifting  his 
hat  to  them  as  we  entered !  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in 
the  suite  of  a  king  and  queen." 

Edith  told  them  how  the  Duke  and  Matilda 
were  preparing  to  go  direct  from  Paris  to 
Lucerne  that  Summer,  while  M.  and  Mme.  mere 
de  Beauchamps  would  proceed  to  the  beautiful 
chateau  in  Normandy,  where  the  young  couple 
would  join  them  in  October  after  their  explora- 
tions of  the  Rhone  Glacier. 

"I  was  sorry  I  was  not  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  picturesque  old  place,  so  filled  with  associa- 
tions of  feudal  history,  but  Matilda  said  I  should 
come  again  some  time  in  the  summer  when  they 
also  would  be  there  to  show  me  its  many  beauties. 
They  live  a  perfectly  ideal  life ! "  she  went  on. 
'  I  never  saw  such  complete  harmony  in  any 
united  family.  M.  de  Beauchamps,  pere,  has 
retained  all  the  courtliness  and  chivalry  of  a 
feudal  marquis,  and  Robert  —  he  is  the  most 

[289] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

faultless,  the  most  devoted,  in  fact,  the  prince 
of  lovers  as  a  husband !  I  think  Matilda  is  really 
falling  in  love  with  him.  You  know  she  used 
to  say  she  was  n't." 

Benedict  listened  to  these  eulogistic  accounts 
of  his  former  rival  in  silence,  his  face  an  in- 
scrutable mask.  Helene  glanced  quickly  at  him 
from  time  to  time ;  but  if  her  gentle  urgings  had 
not  entirely  banished  the  bitterness  and  disap- 
pointment from  his  heart  and  the  barbed  shaft 
from  his  pride,  she  had  at  least  succeeded  in 
teaching  him  to  hide  these  feelings  with  eminent 
success  —  even  from  herself. 

When  they  left  the  Hadleys  that  evening,  how- 
ever, he  did  not  go  in  with  Helene,  as  usual. 
They  parted  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand  which 
he  recognized  as  an  assurance  of  her  never  fail- 
ing sympathy.  For  her  heart,  too,  was  veiled 
— veiled  by  a  wraith  of  such  a  smile  as  might 
have  sat  upon  the  lir>s  of  a  sibyl. 


[290] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MR.  DOLLIVER  WRITES  A  LETTER  AND  THE 
UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS 

"  Think,  in  this  batter'd  Caravanserai 
Whose  Portals  are  alternate  Night  and  Day, 

How  Sultan  after  Sultan  with  his  Pomp 
Abode  his  destin'd  Hour,  and  went  his  way." 

IT'S  about  time  I  was  writing  to  Matildy, 
Emmy,   now   you    ain't    so    well;    though 
you've  kept  up   the  correspondence   in   pretty 
lively  fashion  since  she's  been  gone." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Ario,  you  do  it.  I  long  so  to  hear 
from  her,  —  every  day,  if  such  a  thing  were  pos- 
sible. But  my  mind  is  so  poor  —  my  hand  so 
weak  —  I  feel  that  I  could  hardly  hold  a  pen  if 
I  tried.  You  write  to  her  —  she  '11  be  so  pleased, 
and  her  husband,  too." 

Fired  by  his  wife's  stanch  encouragement, 
Ario  sat  down  to  pen  an  epistle  to  Matilda. 

[291] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  I  'm  most  afraid  to  begin,"  he  said.  "  I 
might  make  it  so  long  she  'd  think  it  was  like  one 
of  those  long  letters  Paul  used  to  write  to  the  — 
what's  their  names?  —  the  *  Ephians,'  is  it?" 

"  Ephesians,"  corrected  Mrs.  Dolliver,  rev- 
erently. "No,  it  won't;  don't  be  afraid.  I 
would  like  so  much  to  read  it  myself,  when  it  is 
finished." 

He  hesitated  a  little  longer,  just  to  get  his 
bearings,  and  then  went  at  it  boldly. 

"  Dear  Tildy :  I  'spect  you  '11  be  surprised  to 
receive  a  letter  from  me.  You  know  of  old  that 
I  ain't  much  for  using  fancified  lang  —  " 

"  Emmy,  how  do  you  spell  the  word  '  lan- 
guidge  '  ?  " 

"  L-a-n-g-u-a-g-e,"  said  Mrs.  Dolliver,  smiling 
at  his  earnestness. 

"  That 's  right !  Just  what  I  thought  it  was, 
only  I  wasn't  quite  sure  —  " 

"  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  your  ma  's  been 
poorly  for  some  time  and  didn't  feel  just  like 
writing  to-day;  so  I  says,  I  will.  [This  here 
between  the  brackets,  ain't  for  her  to  hear.  I  '11 

[292] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

leave  it  out  when  I  read  the  letter  to  her.  She 
wants  to  hear  it.  But  I  '11  just  say  to  you,  Tildy, 
I  'm  just  stumped  about  your  ma.  Don't  worry. 
I  guess  she'll  come  out  all  right  after  a  bit.] 
As  I  was  a-saying  —  " 

"  Emmy,  is  this  right?  '  As  I  was  a-saying,' 
when  I  'm  a- writing?  " 

"  I  would  n't  say  it  now.  It 's  a  little  soon  at 
the  beginning  of  your  letter,"  said  Emmy,  grow- 
ing more  interested.  "  I  would  wait  till  nearer 
the  end  and  write  'as  I  have  already  said." 

He  looked  at  his  wife  in  rapt  pleasure  and 
surprise.  "  I  knew  you  'd  give  me  the  tip.  You 
always  have,"  and  proceeded  with  his  arduous 
labors. 

"  We  got  those  neat  sooveneers  you  sent  by 
Edith  Hadley.  Your  ma  was  mighty  tickled 
to  get  hers,  and  my  neckties  is  what  you'd  call 
distanguy.  It  makes  me  feel  like  I  was  a  duke 
too,  maybe." 

4  What  are  you  writing  that  makes  you  smile 
so,  Ario?"  asked  his  wife,  who  was  by  this  time 
in  a  mood  to  enjoy  her  impatience. 

[293] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Never  you  mind,  Mrs.  D.  I'll  read  it  to 
you  if  you're  awake  when  it's  done.  It  'pears 
now  like  it  would  take  all  night  to  do  it." 

"  Guess  you  did  n't  forget  anybody  from  what 
I  hear.  That 's  right.  I  'm  proud  to  know  my 
daughter  can  be  Lady  Bountiful  if  she  wants 
to.  Helene  is  well  and  looks  better  than  she 
did.  Benedict  keeps  pretty  steady  company  with 
her  these  days.  Should  n't  wonder  if  there  'd  be 
something  doin'  in  that  quarter  before  long. 
Mrs.  Doyle  keeps  up  her  everlasting  tune  of 
whining  and  complaining.  Me  and  your  ma 
took  tea  with  the  Hadley  girls  some  wreeks  ago. 
Say,  ain't  they  a  queer  bunch,  though !  They  've 
got  a  kind  of  female  butler  to  their  outfit  now, 
since  Edith's  come  back  from  France.  I  'spose 
they  feel  they  must  put  on  more  luggs.  This 
here  butler  is  a  colored  girl.  She  hustles  the 
grub,  I  tell  you.  Their  soup  and  pastry  factory 
is  continually  on  the  boom;  a  steady  upward 
tendency,  with  no  indication  of  a  break.  They 
served  a  good  meal;  your  ma  didn't  eat  much; 
but  she  kept  a-smiling  and  a-nodding  to  folks 

[294] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

across  the  table,  like  she  was  having  a  mighty 
good  time  for  her.  She  seemed  particularly 
pleased  with  a  business  friend  of  Benedict's;  a 
man  older  than  him  but  enough  like  him  to  say 
he  was  his  brother  or  cousin  or  something  near 
related.  They  seem  to  be  rattling  good  friends 
tho'  Ben'dict  's  a  young  chap  yet  while  the 
other's  a  man  about  forty-four  or  five.  What 
pleased  your  ma  was  that  he  acted  like  he  was 
playing  sweet  on  Lucy.  Everybody  admires 
that  girl;  she's  so  sensible  and  practical!  Edith 
and  Rasburn  are  n't  much  account  to  anybody 
apart  from  each  other.  Nobody 's  seen  hair  nor 
hide  of  the  Atwood  females.  It  seems  they 
coaxed  Atwood  to  buy  a  place  up  in  the  Thou- 
sand Islands;  nice  neat  distance  to  put  between 
him  and  them.  Good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish! 
Mebbe  I  haven't  told  all  the  news;  but  your 
poor  ma  's  anxious  to  hear  this  read  and  I  won't 
keep  her  waiting  any  longer.  [Don't  worry 
about  her ;  if  she  gets  worse,  I  '11  send  you  a 
cable-grim.]  So  I  guess  I  better  quit. 

Your  affectionate 

FATHER." 
[295] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  There  now,  Emmy,  I  'm  through  quicker  'n 
I  thought.  It  isn't  so  bad  after  you  once  make 
a  start." 

'  Yes,  read  it  to  me,  Ario,  read  every  word 
you  said,"  Mrs.  Dolliver  urged  raising  her  eye- 
lids which  had  drooped  during  his  hour  of  active 
silence. 

He  read  his  letter  aloud  with  some  slight  de- 
fects in  fluency,  omitting  the  matter  in  brackets, 
of  course,  and  Mrs.  Dolliver  pronounced  it  a 
fine  newsy  letter  which  would  please  Matilda 
and  perhaps  make  her  wish  to  visit  her  home 
before  very  long. 

After  his  last  visit  to  the  Hadley  home, 
Benedict  virtuously  eschewed  all  proximity  to 
Edith  and  her  sisters.  He  would  not  again  place 
himself  in  a  position  to  suffer  and  struggle  as 
he  had  done  that  night.  It  was  unconscionable, 
there  was  no  sense  in  it.  He  continued  diligently 
to  discipline  his  own  mind  into  thinking  the 
thoughts  he  felt  he  must  reach  in  order  to  have 
peace  of  mind  to  continue  his  undertaking  of  the 
great  contract  he  had  made  with  himself. 

[296] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  Summer  waxed  on  into  August.  He 
visited  Helene  now,  not  more  assiduously,  but 
more  purposefully  and  less  often.  He  felt  the 
need  of  thoroughly  acquainting  himself  with 
himself  before  making  a  decisive  move.  One 
night  after  he  had  spent  some  hours  with  her  in 
dissecting  the  intricacies  of  Ethical  Sentiments, 
it  came  to  the  point  when  Benedict  asked  him- 
self whether  Helene,  after  all,  would  not  fill  the 
place  in  his  empty  life  with  comforting  compan- 
ionship. That  other  personality  was  still  hang- 
ing over  him.  He  had  not  fully  recovered  from 
his  cruel  disappointment.  His  need  was  pressing. 
Would  not  the  better  way  be  to  dispel  the 
haunting  miasma,  to  speak  to  Helene  at  once, 
and  have  done  with  it  once  for  all?  He  had 
waited,  it  seemed,  long  enough.  Was  he  destined 
to  have  his  life  spoiled?  No;  there  were  too 
many  hopes  luring  him  on  in  other  pathways! 

His  mind  was  so  alert  with  thinking  that  he 
had  no  desire  to  sleep  when  he  reached  his  apart- 
ments. He  walked  the  length  of  his  two  rooms, 
up  and  down,  many  times  before  bringing  him- 

[297] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

self  to  a  decision.  He  had  hung  fire  over  it  long 
enough.  Yet  he  went  over  in  his  mind  his 
last  scene  with  Matilda.  To  this  woman  he  was 
ready  to  yield  his  heart's  best  tribute.  But  she 
had  turned  coldly  away  from  him,  smiling  the 
while,  with  tears  in  her  eyes;  whereas  he  had 
attributed  to  her,  in  his  own  exalted  imagination, 
the  emotion  of  a  passionate,  loving  nature!  The 
web  that  lay  on  his  wounded  heart  was  still  of 
gossamer  thinness. 

He  would  think  of  each  one  in  turn.  First, 
Helene  would  rise  before  him,  aesthetic,  ex- 
quisite, her  mind  filled  with  the  idea  of  solving 
great  ethical  and  sociological  problems,  her  per- 
sonality refined  and  attractive,  her  innumerable 
qualifications.  All  of  these  were  pleasing  to  him ; 
but  he  had  yet  to  see  the  first  attestation  of  her 
heart.  It  was  impossible  that  she  could  be  with- 
out a  living,  throbbing  one;  but  she  had  never 
shown  him  the  actual  evidence  of  it.  Perhaps 
it  was  meant  for  him  to  have  but  one  brief 
glimpse  of  that  garden  of  the  gods!  If  so,  he 
would  give  up  the  struggle  and  lay  down  his 

[298] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

arms,  as  it  were,  surrendering  to  a  great  con- 
queror. There  was  no  ignominy  in  such  defeats. 
He  said  at  last: 

"  I  will  ask  Helene." 

He  went  to  bed  after  that,  exhausted  by  the 
conflict  with  himself;  but  he  felt  that  he  had 
won,  and  slept  peacefully  the  remainder  of  the 
night. 

When  he  rose  the  next  morning,  a  new  vigor 
impelled  him.  It  was  as  if  he  had  cast  off  a 
long  and  tedious  burden.  A  sense  of  new-found 
freedom  caused  him  to  breathe  deeply  and  de- 
liciously,  as  he  sat  down  to  his  solitary  break- 
fast. He  threw  a  joke  at  his  waiter;  indeed, 
felt  altogether  jovial. 

"  I  feel  like  a  boy  again,"  he  said  to  himself 
aloud.  "  Things  taste  better  than  usual  this 
morning.  I  think  I  must  hail  Sambo  directly 
after  breakfast  and  spin  out  to  Willow  Brook. 
I  can  spend  an  hour  or  two  with  father  and 
mother  before  seeing  Helene." 

Smiling  in  high  good  humor  with  the  world, 
after  reaching  his  decision,  he  took  up  the  morn- 

[299] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

ing  paper.    Almost  his  first  glance  was  assaulted 
by  a  glaring  heading: 

ENTOMBED  IN  ICE 

FROZEN  STREAM  TRAPS  FRENCH 

PEER  IN   WIFE'S   PRESENCE 

WAS   ARDENT    INVESTIGATOR 

Due  de  Beauchamps,  Scion  of 

Notable  Family,  Vanishes 

in  Crevasse  of  Rhone 

Glacier —  Rescue 

Attempts  Fail 

Benedict  turned  pale;  he  was  faint;  his  hands 
grew  icy  cold.     He  beckoned  to  his  waiter: 

"Never   mind   the   breakfast.      I  —  I'm   not 
feeling  well." 

He  grasped  the  paper,  crunching  it  between 
his  fingers. 

'  You  suttenly  lookin'  powerful  bad.  Kin  I 
do  anything  mo'  fo'  you,  suh?  Shall  I  call  a 
docteh?" 

"  Thank  you,  Abe.  I  '11  be  all  right  in  a 
minute.  Just  fetch  me  a  brandy  and  soda.  I 

[300] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

haven't  been  drinking  either,  you  scoundrel; 
don't  look  at  me  like  that.  I  need  only  a  little 
punching  up." 

'  That  you  do,  suh,"  Abe  heartily  agreed. 
"  A  little  cocktail  would  n't  do  you  no  harm,  just 
naow.  Oh,  I  know  you  ain't  been  drinking,  Mr. 
Travis,  but  I  ca'ant  guess  what 's  come  over  you 
so  sudden!" 

By  this  time  the  two  had  arrived  at  Benedict's 
room.  He  pointed  to  the  door  and  uttered  one 
word: 

"Hustle!" 

* 

The  darky  flew  downstairs.  By  the  time  he 
returned,  Travis  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair 
looking  considerably  better.  He  swallowed  the 
brandy  and  soda  like  a  medicine  and  then  said, 

"  Send  up  one  of  the  bell  boys,  please,  I  '11 
run  up  to  the  office  in  a  taxi  this  morning;  I  Ve 
got  a  pack  of  hard  work  there." 

The  boys  and  waiters  at  Cheltenham  Court 
Apartment  Hotel  would  have  run  their  feet  off 
in  his  slightest  service. 

"I  will  go  down  there,"  he  said  to  himself. 
[301] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"I   can  always   reason  better  at  headquarters. 
I'll  think  what  to  do." 

His  trip  to  Willow  Brook  was  given  up.  He 
clutched  the  paper  that  had  changed  his  destiny, 
but  did  not  read  it.  Once  in  his  private  office 
he  would  try  to  read  it.  And  the  thought  that 
kept  surging  in  his  mind  was, 

"  What  shaU  I  do  ?  Matilda  is  free !  Am  I  ? " 
and  the  word  that  came  in  answer  was, 

"No!" 

He  tried  to  divert  his  mind;  for  his  temples 
were  throbbing  furiously.  He  tried  to  read  the 
fatal,  yet  blessed  paper;  but  his  sensitiveness 
rebelled  at  any  detail.  The  heading  was  enough. 
The  day  dragged  wearily  on.  He  went  no- 
where, fearing  to  meet  any  of  his  fellows  who 
might  wish  to  discuss  the  occurrence. 

He  slipped  into  his  hotel  late  that  evening, 
unobserved,  to  have  another  tussle  with  himself. 
He  walked  the  floor  again,  hour  after  hour,  till 
late  into  the  night.  When  he  awoke  the  next 
morning,  it  was  with  a  very  different  feeling 

[302] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

from  the  one  he  had  experienced  the  previous 
morning.  He  looked  care-worn  and  weary.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  for  the  second  time  that  he 
would  be  true  to  his  word;  that  he  would  ask 
Helene. 

What  should  he  say  ? 

He  did  not  know.  Her  inspiration  would  aid 
him.  Before  he  had  time  to  formulate  his 
thoughts,  he  had  reached  her  home.  He  pressed 
the  bell-button,  and  entered  almost  immediately; 
the  maid  was  dusting  the  library.  In  a  moment 
Helene  was  with  him.  His  face  which  had  al- 
most re-assumed  its  usual  bright  cheeriness,  was 
clouded  and  very  serious  when  she  looked  up  at 
him  and  took  his  hand. 

"You  have  seen  the  report  of  the  frightful 
accident?  "  she  began,  while  they  yet  stood. 

"  I  have  —  of  course.  But  I  did  n't  come  here 
to  discuss  that.  I  am  here  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me,  Helene." 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  and  dropped 
into  a  nearby  chair,  where  she  sat  staring  at  him 

[308] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

a  little  wildly.     There  followed  a  long  pause, 
then  she  asked: 

"When  did  you  make  up  your  mind  to  —  to 
do  me  this  honor?" 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  he  returned, 
puzzled  by  both  the  question  and  her  constrained 
behavior.  "I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  marry  me 
if  I  didn't  want  you  for  my  wife  —  would  I, 
Helene?" 

She  was  again  mistress  of  herself. 

"  I  can  imagine  conditions  under  which  you 
might  feel  an  obligation  to  do  so,  Benedict,"  she 
said  with  her  old  gentleness.  "  So  I  would  like 
to  know  when  you  reached  this  decision." 

His  own  manner  all  at  once  altered. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  he  said  — 
"  that  I  came  to  this  resolve  before  seeing  this 
news.  That  is  true.  But  believe  me,  dear 
Helene,  that  dreadful  news  has  not  altered 
my  desire  in  the  least.  Will  you  marry  me  ? " 

She  arose  and  came  nearer  to  him,  searching 
his  eyes  long  and  earnestly.  At  last  — 

"Do  you  love  me?"  she  asked. 
[304] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"What  a  question!  You  know  that  I  have 
always  loved  you." 

'  Yes,  Benedict,  you  have  always  loved  me " 
—  the  smile  was  more  sphinx-like  and  mysterious 
than  ever  —  "as  a  very  dear  friend,  as  a  sister." 

He  grew  suddenly  ill  at  ease. 

"Then  —  wh  —  why  —  "  he  began  falteringly. 

"But  I  will  not  become  your  wife,  Benedict." 

"What  a  selfish  brute  I  am!"  he  blurted  at 
last.  "  Here  I  am,  thinking  only  of  myself, 
without  the  slightest  consideration  for  your  own 
feelings.  Fond  of  Matilda  as  you  are,  of  course 
I  should  know  what  a  shock  the  news  must  have 
been  to  you.  Pardon  me,  Helene." 

"  At  the  present  moment,"  she  returned  in  her 
quiet  manner,  "I  am  steeped  in  grief  and  sym- 
pathy for  Matilda;  I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
her  affliction." 

"Dear  Helene!"  fervently.  "We'll  let  the 
matter  rest  for  the  present.  Another  time  —  " 

"  No,"  and  at  last  she  betrayed  the  slightest 
tremor  of  emotion.  "  I  think  it  can  never  be." 

He  was  submissive,  unusually  so,  for  he  was 
[305] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

heartily  ashamed  of  the  feeling  of  relief  that  her 
decision  had  given  him.  Yet  he  departed  with 
an  unfamiliar  pang  at  his  heart  —  regret,  a  sense 
of  loss,  a  doubt  as  to  whether  he  had  really  ever 
estimated  Helene  at  her  true  worth. 

After  all  their  years  of  intimacy,  how  well  did 
he  know  her? 


[306] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MATILDA  EETUENS  TO  HER  FATHER'S  HOME 

"  For  some  we  loved,  the  loveliest  and  the  best 
That  from  his  Vintage  rolling  Time  hath  prest, 
Have  drunk  their  Cup  a  round  or  two  before, 
And  one  by  one  crept  silently  to  rest." 

THE  great  Rhone  Glacier  has  its  source 
between  two  high  mountains,  so  dense  that 
they  are  almost  impenetrable.  Descending  from 
them  with  broadening  banks,  it  tosses  and  flings 
about  with  gigantic  force  its  pointed  waves  that 
have  crystallized  into  pyramids  and  columns  of 
glistening  ice.  At  every  turn  and  bend  deep 
crevasses  yawn,  emitting  hues  of  emerald  green 
as  the  sun-shafts  dart  within  their  mysterious 
hollows.  Cold,  high-born,  and  exclusive  like  its 
surrounding  mountains,  it  halts  on  its  downward 
course  where  the  sordid  crowd  gathers  every  year 
to  view  Thorwalden's  eternal  masterpiece.  A 

[307] 


small  artificial  lake  surrounds  the  monument, 
hewn  in  the  rock,  presumably  that  no  human  hand 
shall  tarnish  the  pedestal  of  its  immortality. 
Here  the  glacier  forms  a  cavern  from  which  the 
torrent  of  the  Rhone  River,  a  cold,  translucent 
stream,  flows  to  overrun  both  Switzerland  and 
France.  This  grotto  is  poetically  described  by 
Longfellow  as  "  a  gauntlet  of  ice  which,  centuries 
ago,  Winter,  the  king  of  these  mountains,  threw 
down  in  defiance  of  the  sun  which,  year  by  year, 
strives  to  lift  it  from  the  ground  on  the  point  of 
its  glittering  spear." 

Lucerne,  lying  beneath  it,  where  Matilda  and 
her  husband  had  gone,  is  itself  a  strikingly  pic- 
turesque town.  Set  in  an  amphitheatre  of  moun- 
tains and  low  hills,  it  faces  the  snow  fields  of  the 
Alps,  while  its  approach  is  one  of  surpassing 
beauty.  The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Beauchamps 
had  chosen  it  this  Summer  in  preference  to  the 
quiet  chateau  near  Nantes,  owing  to  the  Duke's 
interest  in  the  glacier.  They  had  taken  a  secluded 
villa  high  up  on  the  rugged  mountain  where 
Robert  could  easily  walk  across  to  the  silent 

[308] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

stream  and  roam  at  pleasure  upon  its  surface, 
while  Matilda,  who  sometimes  accompanied  him, 
would  stand  near  its  frozen  brink  to  watch  him 
step  lightly  from  place  to  place,  dodging  the  fre- 
quent crevasses  with  the  skill  and  agility  of  one 
trained  to  the  study  of  glaciers.  A  full  retinue 
of  attendants  had  preceded  them,  to  put  the 
elevated  villa  upon  a  footing  suited  to  the 
needs  and  tastes  of  its  noble  occupants.  Two  or 
three  of  these  attendants  usually  followed  them 
on  their  glacier  trips  to  provide  food  and  other 
necessaries,  in  case  the  young  Duke  should  find 
enough  to  interest  him  till  nightfall.  Like  all 
earnest  enthusiasts  he  lost  sight  of  everything 
material,  —  food,  rest,  and  time,  —  when  ab- 
sorbed in  his  mysterious  calculations. 

One  day,  late  in  August,  when  Matilda  had 
wished  to  join  her  husband,  more  to  check  his  un- 
bridled ardor  than  from  any  great  interest  of  her 
own,  she  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  river.  From 
its  banks  a  keener  air  blew,  bringing  the  scent  of 
forest  tree-bark  and  wild  shrubbery.  Among  the 
tangled  verdure,  the  growth  of  some  unknown 

[309] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

mountain  flower  arrested  her  attention.  She 
stooped  to  pluck  it,  and  was  so  intent  upon  its 
study  that  she  remained  unconscious  of  the  over- 
powering stillness  about  her  for  full  twenty 
minutes.  Suddenly  she  remembered  the  near- 
ness of  her  husband;  she  was  accustomed  to  his 
voice  now  and  then,  calling  out  some  favorite 
password  between  them,  or  uttering  a  shrill  bird- 
note  whistle  to  reassure  her.  She  stopped  to 
listen  a  moment.  There  was  nothing  to  indicate 
his  presence.  She  looked  upon  the  frowning 
glacier ;  but  he  was  no  where  to  be  seen.  Then  she 
walked  up  some  distance  through  the  network  of 
brier  and  brush  to  call  aloud: 

"  Robert,  Robert,  mon  amie,  viens-tu?  " 
The  echo  of  her  own  clear  voice  back  from  the 
dense  woods  on  the  opposite  bank  was  the  only 
sound  she  heard.  Struck  with  a  nameless  dread, 
she  walked  up  and  down  the  deserted  brink  with 
repeated  cries  of,  "Robert,  my  beloved,  answer 
me!"  She  waited  again,  this  time  with  beating 
heart.  Only  the  moan  of  the  bending  forest- 
giants  came  to  her  ears. 

[310] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

At  length,  she  made  her  way  with  faltering 
steps  toward  the  spot  where  the  attendants  were 
stationed.  When  they  saw  her  returning  alone 
and  with  a  look  of  fright  upon  her  face  they  ran 
to  meet  her. 

"  Madame  is  faint!  One  must  go  for  her  maid 
and  return  with  all  possible  haste." 

They  supported  her  until  the  maid  arrived. 
With  the  woman's  skilled  ministrations,  they 
reached  the  villa  where  they  laid  her  upon  a  couch 
to  await  the  return  of  consciousness. 

"Where  is  M.  le  Due?"  asked  many  voices, 
when  the  attendants  had  learned  of  the  Duchess' 
solitary  return. 

"Waste  no  time  in  idle  questions,"  cried  the 
more  self-possessed  ones.  "Down  to  the  first 
hotel,  some  of  you,  for  expert  guides  to  search  the 
mountain;  a  physician  to  attend  Madame,  quick! 
Monsieur  has  disappeared  from  the  glacier;  time 
is  precious ;  it  will  take  but  a  minute  to  save  him, 
haste!" 

Immediately  the  entire  household  went  frantic 
in  their  attempts  to  institute  a  search.  The  look 

[311] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

of  terror  and  despair  in  Madame's  eyes,  when  she 
recovered,  made  them  realize  there  was  no  time  to 
be  lost.  There  were  guides  who  knew  the  perils 
of  the  glacier  regions.  He  might  be  found;  al- 
though Matilda's  speechless,  stony  stare  could  be 
interpreted  into  nothing  but  extreme  danger. 
They  rang  special  alarms  to  the  city  below,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  an  eminent  physician 
appeared  on  the  scene. 

'  Your  ladyship  must  compose  herself,"  he 
said,  taking  her  cold  hand  in  his.  "  There  is  no 
immediate  cause  for  alarm.  You  did  not  see  him 
fall  anywhere? " 

"No;  I  turned  away  a  few  minutes;  he  was 
there  walking  on  the  ice.  When  I  looked  again, 
he  was  not ! " 

"  Accidents  of  the  kind  you  fear,  rarely  occur. 
There  is  every  means  of  recovering  one  who  has 
strayed  in  his  path,  even  though  he  may  have 
slipped  in  one  of  the  crevasses.  Many  of  these 
have  a  substratum  but  a  score  of  feet  below.  One 
may  easily  be  heard  calling  from  that  distance." 

" I  called  him  many  times;  he  was  so  —  so  very 
[312] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

near  those  frightful  chasms! "  she  said,  with  bated 
breath. 

"Even  if  he  fell,  he  may  still  be  found  and 
rescued." 

But  the  hollow  echo  of  her  own  voice  was  the 
only  sound  destined  ever  to  come  back  to  her  from 
the  frozen  river  of  death.  Perhaps,  generations 
hence,  the  body  of  her  husband  would  be  delivered 
from  its  icy  sepulchre  in  the  valley  far  below. 

Next  morning,  when  the  report  was  brought  to 
Matilda,  who  was  now  stunned  to  the  realization 
that  hope,  with  him,  had  vanished,  the  only 
question  she  asked  was : 

"Cannot  even  his  person  be  recovered?" 

And  the  man  of  science,  with  something  of  the 
glacier's  relentless  sternnesss,  could  only  shake 
his  head  in  wordless  reply. 

The  Duchess  of  Beauchamps  lowered  her 
beautiful  head  in  resignation,  as  the  fair  women 
of  France  had  lowered  theirs  to  the  guillotine. 
Tearless,  subdued,  and  humbled,  even  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  attendants,  the  sight  of  her  moving 
silently  about  their  home,  was  a  heart-breaking 

[813] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

spectacle.  In  the  night,  when  she  was  left  alone, 
she  knelt  at  the  window  that  overlooked  her  hus- 
band's sepulchre.  What  grief  and  remorse 
overwhelmed  her!  She  who  had  once  spurned  a 
great  love  like  the  one  she  had  just  lost! 

Was  it  the  retributive  act  of  her  former 
ignorance?  For  she  had  been  ignorant  of  the 
true  meaning  of  a  powerful  love.  She  was  just 
waking  to  the  knowledge  which  Helene  Doyle  had 
striven  to  teach  her  was  the  strongest  of  the 
world's  forces.  She  had  failed,  no  doubt,  in  her 
full  and  perfect  application  of  it  toward  him ;  but 
when  she  thought  of  the  many  others  who 
idolized  him,  of  the  wrorld  of  science  who  would 
mourn  him,  she  was  baffled  and  confused  into 
thinking  herself  the  cause  of  the  catastrophe.  A 
deep  sense  of  contrition  smote  her,  that  she  should 
have  brought  grief  to  those  who  had  shown  her 
none  but  loving  hospitality,  and  accepted  her  as 
one  of  their  own!  She  felt  she  could  willingly 
bear  all  the  punishment  she  deserved.  This  great 
crisis  flung  back  to  her  the  vivid  consciousness  of 
her  past  heartless  experience.  She  even  welcomed 

[314] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  anguish  she  suffered  as  a  means  of  atonement. 
Though  she  so  severely  condemned  herself,  she 
met  no  evidence  that  others  shared  her  feelings 
in  this  self-accusation.  On  the  contrary,  those 
about  her  saw  only  the  deepest  devotion  in  her 
conduct. 

As  soon  as  the  reports  about  his  son  were  con- 
firmed, M.  de  Beauchamps,  pere,  came  in  person 
to  escort  Matilda  to  the  old  chateau  in  Normandy, 
where  she  might  bear  her  sorrow  in  strict  seclu- 
sion. There,  perhaps,  she  might,  in  time,  find 
solace,  and  the  collyrium  to  her  torn  spirit.  Sur- 
rounded by  those  who  had  loved  and  cherished 
him,  who  had  included  her  in  the  tenderness  they 
had  lavished  upon  their  son,  she  might  learn  to 
know  that  Youth's  most  deplorable  wounds  may 
be  healed  by  Time's  supreme  elixir. 

But  Heaven  willed  it  not  so  for  Matilda;  she 
had  no  sooner  reached  the  place  where  she,  now, 
most  longed  to  be,  than  a  much  delayed  and  re- 
directed cablegram  reached  her.  It  was  an 
urgent  call  from  Mr.  Dolliver,  imploring  her  to 
come  to  her  mother's  bedside,  for  she  was  sink- 

[315] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

ing  rapidly.     His  hope  was  that  Matilda  might 
reach  them  before  she  closed  her  eyes  forever. 

This  imperative  summons,  coming  as  it  did  in 
Matilda's  deepest  trouble,  was  the  means  of  rous- 
ing her  suddenly  from  all  thoughts  of  self  and 
present  unhappy  surroundings  by  being  turned  to 
those  to  whom  she  owed  her  life  and  all  the  good 
she  had  met  in  it.  Setting  aside  their  own  fresh 
sorrow,  M.  and  Mme.  de  Beauchamps  now  turned 
their  attentions  to  their  daughter's  immediate 
departure.  Under  pressure  of  their  redoubled 
affection  for  the  wife  of  their  son,  they  urged  her 
to  come  back  to  them  if  her  heart  so  dictated. 
They  truly  loved  her,  and  were  ready  to  stand  by 
all  that  the  sacred  union  between  her  and  Robert 
required  of  them.  Matilda  found  it  very  hard  to 
part  from  them.  Torn  by  her  sense  of  duty  to 
her  own  mother  and  to  them,  the  separation  be- 
came doubly  painful.  She  bade  them  the  most 
tender  adieux,  promised  them  an  unfailing 
devotion  and  remembrance,  and  left  them,  a  truly 
grieving  and  tearful  young  widow. 

[316] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  journey  upon  one  of  the  swiftest  of 
ocean  greyhounds  was  not  long.  The  young 
Duchess  of  Beauchamps  was  overwhelmed  with 
sympathetic  attentions  and  kindnesses,  not  only 
by  those  in  her  suite  who  accompanied  her,  but 
by  the  respectful  few  who  knew  and  understood 
her  trouble.  During  the  five  days'  estrangement 
from  a  world  of  sorrow  and  pain,  which  was  new 
to  her,  she  had  ample  time  to  readjust  her  emo- 
tions after  the  two  overpowering  crises  which  had 
stirred  and  altered  her  life.  Her  heart  and  con- 
science were  continually  at  variance.  Her 
sensibilities  were  sharpened  to  a  keener  sense  of 
what  was  required  of  her  when  she  finally  reached 
her  home. 

The  frail,  gentle  Mrs.  Dolliver  having  slowly 
succumbed  to  the  wasting  effects  of  brooding  over 
her  daughter's  absence,  had  at  last  passed  away. 
She  died  on  the  very  day  when  the  Due  de  Beau- 
champs'  irreparable  loss  was  made  known  to  all 
parts  of  the  world,  and  thus  she  was  saved  what 
would  have  been  a  shock  too  rude  to  bear. 

[317] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Matilda's  return  to  her  father's  home  pro- 
claimed to  her  the  mission  that  heaven  had 
destined  to  her  younger,  more  promising  strength. 
Her  mother  had  already  been  laid  to  rest,  and 
Ario  Dolliver  was  a  sadly  broken  man. 


[318] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MATILDA  IS  COMFORTED  BY  HER  FRIENDS 

"  A  moment  guess'd  —  then  back  behind  the  Fold 
Immerst  of  Darkness  round  the  drama  roll'd 

Which  for  the  Pastime  of  Eternity 
He  doth  Himself  contrive,  enact,  behold!  " 

HELENE  DOYLE  was  among  the  first 
to  see  the  Duchess  of  Beauchamps  after 
return  to  Baltimore.  In  her  office  of  true  friend, 
Helene  had  ministered  to  the  beloved  Mrs.  Dolli- 
ver  through  the  days  of  her  last,  brief  illness.  She 
had  tried  to  take  the  place  of  the  absent  daugh- 
ter ;  and  the  fading  mother  had  poured  her  words 
of  loving  separation  for  Matilda  into  Helene's 
willing  ears.  It  was  natural  that  she  should  be  the 
first  to  greet  Matilda  in  her  father's  home  upon 
her  sad  arrival.  The  two  women  exchanged 
many  tears  and  words  of  loving  sympathy  before 

[319] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Matilda  was  able  to  meet  her  afflicted  father. 
Helene  remained  with  them  the  first  few  days,  to 
mollify  the  cruel  change  of  environments  for  poor 
Matilda,  as  well  as  to  cheer  Ario  Dolliver  who, 
during  the  crisis  of  events,  seemed  to  be  robbed 
of  his  habitual  fortitude.  Then,  she  left  them  in 
their  grief -stricken  solitude  to  commune  with  each 
other;  to  strengthen  the  indissoluble  tie  that 
draws  those  of  one  family  nearer  together  in  a 
common  sorrow. 

The  Autumn  set  in  that  year,  gloomy  and  cold 
with  the  peculiarly  mournful  note  of  the  season. 
Matilda  and  her  father  saw  very  few  persons  that 
Winter  save  Helene  Doyle  and  Edith  Hadley, 
who  were  now  habituees  of  the  house.  Mr. 
Dolliver  resumed,  in  due  time,  his  punctual 
regularity  at  his  down-town  office.  His  wealth, 
during  his  period  of  cessation  of  its  observance, 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  sudden,  automatic  leap, 
manifolding  itself  to  such  an  extent  that  his  pres- 
ence was  constantly  necessary.  He  had  no  leisure 
to  foster  his  poor  bruised  feelings.  Like  Ixion, 
he  was  bound  to  the  wheel  of  toil. 

[320] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

There  was  no  doubt,  however,  that  Matilda's 
being  at  home  had  a  salutary  effect  upon  her 
father's  spirits.  In  spite  of  his  deep  sorrow  at  the 
loss  of  his  beloved  Emmy,  his  characteristic  na- 
ture of  downing  the  bad,  and  looking  only  to  the 
good  of  life,  gradually  restored  his  beaming,  good- 
natured  view  of  all  the  blessings  that  remained  to 
him.  After  some  time,  Matilda  also  began  to  realize 
that  the  world's  tears,  and  secret  sorrows  of  deca- 
dence, disappeared  at  the  return  of  Spring's  sun- 
shine. For  heaven  is  kind  to  us,  even  in  our  woes; 
in  time  the  clouds  disperse  and  we  look  up  again 
to  our  lives  of  peace  and  joy.  Helene,  who  was 
a  constant  visitor,  had  spoken  much  of  Benedict, 
and  begged  that  he  be  allowed  to  see  Matilda.  He 
had  been  so  deeply  affected  by  her  sorrow ;  but  he 
did  not  know  how  she  regarded  him,  and  there- 
fore had  not  ventured  to  come  and  express  his 
sympathy  in  person. 

Matilda  was  tearfully  moved  by  the  report. 

"  Tell  him  to  come,"  she  said.  "  How  could  he 
doubt  that  I  would  receive  his  sympathy !  I  told 
him,  the  last  time  we  spoke  intimately  together, 

[321] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

that  I  should  ever  count  you  and  him,  my  best, 
my  truest  friends." 

So  Helene  came  with  Benedict,  dutifully,  sub- 
missively, yet  proudly,  as  did  the  great  chiefs  of 
old,  when  they  followed  the  triumphant  cars  of 
their  conquerors.  Fair,  beautifully  pathetic  Ma- 
tilda was  so  absorbed  in  her  own  sorrows  and  her 
great  need  of  consolation,  that  she  did  not  notice 
her  friend's  pallor,  nor  the  tremulousness  of  the 
sensitive  lips  in  the  execution  of  her  invincible, 
unrevealing  smile. 

It  fell  out  very  naturally  that  Benedict,  hav- 
ing successfully  renewed,  continued  his  visits  to 
Matilda  —  delicate  attentions,  fearing  to  trespass 
too  soon  upon  her  lacerated  heart.  He  sought 
Helene's  society  more  than  ever.  With  her  he 
could  open  his  heart  and  speak  of  his  timorous 
desires,  even  find  encouragement ;  but  they  never 
went  again  together  to  see  Matilda.  Helene  con- 
tinued her  offices  of  friend ;  Benedict  pursued  his 
silent,  timid  wooing,  and  they  compared  notes 
later  in  his  morning  visits  to  Helene.  This  quiet, 
inoffensive  state  of  affairs  seemed  to  suit  every 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

one  concerned.  Ario  Dolliver  was  grateful,  be- 
cause, as  the  evenings  he  must  spend  at  his  bureau 
of  activity  grew  more  frequent,  it  was  a  relief  to 
know  Matilda  was  pleasantly  entertained  at  home. 

Sophie  Hadley  and  Mrs.  Doyle  were  perhaps 
the  only  ones  not  wholly  amenable  to  the  new  con- 
dition of  things.  Sophie  complained: 

"  I  don't  see  why  Benedict  has  to  go  flying  off 
on  a  tangent,  the  minute  Matilda  gets  back,  when 
he 's  been  so  assiduously  devoting  himself  to 
Helene  for  the  past  two  years !  One  would  think 
there  was  no  other  woman  on  earth  but  Matilda 
Dolliver." 

'  You  know  very  well,  he  was  fond  of  Matilda 
from  the  day  he  first  met  her,"  said  Edith,  who 
rather  gloried  in  her  friend's  conquests,  as  long 
as  she  had  never  shown  any  dangerous  propensities 
in  the  Elmer  Rasburn  quarter. 

"  A  young  woman  who  has  her  head  turned  by 
social  triumphs  at  home  and  abroad!"  continued 
Sophie.  "Why  isn't  he  satisfied  with  Helene? 
Is  n't  she  good  enough? " 

"  Helene  and  he  have  never  touched  upon  the 
[323] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

subject  of  love-making,"  asserted  Lucy,  vindicat- 
ingly.  "  She  as  much  as  told  me  so.  Their 
association,  almost  from  childhood,  has  never  been 
anything  but  pure  and  simple  friendship;  just  a 
sisterly  and  brotherly  attachment,  that's  all." 

"  He  has  never  had  a  sister  and  she 's  never  had 
a  brother ;  how  do  they  know  it 's  that  sort  of  an 
attachment?  That's  all  bosh!  I'll  warrant  you 
Mrs.  Doyle  does  n't  look  upon  it  that  way.  I  '11 
be  willing  to  bet  Helene  cares  for  him,  anyway. 
Friendship,  nothing!  Besides,  is  n't  friendship  a 
good  enough  thing  to  marry  on !  I  'd  rather  have 
it  than  sentimental  rubbish;  it's  a  more  sure 
thing!" 

"  Don't  get  so  excited  over  it,"  laughed  Lucy. 
"  One  would  think  you  wanted  Benedict  for  your- 
self!" 

"  He 's  not  to  be  sneezed  at,"  acknowledged 
Sophie,  in  nowise  abashed.  "  But  it  vexes  me  to 
think  he  'd  be  satisfied  with  a  second-best.  I  hope 
he  won't  ask  her  to  marry  him,  yet  a  while.  She 
has  hardly  worn  her  widow's  weeds  a  year;  it 
would  seem  like  rather  indecent  haste." 

[324] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Don't  be  so  anxious  about  other  people's  love- 
affairs,"  piped  up  Edith,  who  now  assumed  the 
complacency  of  one  whose  prospects  were  settled. 

"  That 's  quite  right,"  chimed  in  Lucy.  "  Let 
every  one  manage  his  own  love  affairs ;  and  he  or 
she  will  be  satisfied,  at  least,  even  if  their  friends 
are  not." 

Sophie  approved  of  her  sister's  wise  remark; 
but  made  certain  mental  reservations  as  to  the 
cause  by  which  it  was  prompted. 

*  Well,  I  suppose  she  '11  get  him,  if  she  wants 
him,"  she  added.  "  Widows  have  a  better  chance 
than  spinsters ;  they  've  had  experience,  and  prac- 
tice makes  perfect." 

As  to  Mrs.  Doyle,  the  mystery  of  her  daugh- 
ter's relations  with  Benedict  Travis  kept  her 
gentle  bosom  in  a  perpetual  flutter  of  excitement 
and  vain  expectation. 

All  unconscious  of  these  sentiments  concerning 
him,  Benedict  was  being  drawn  near  and  nearer 
to  the  object  of  his  first  great  passion,  by  that 
most  irresistible  of  forces,  personal  attraction. 
His  great  book,  that  had  up  to  this  time  occupied 

[325] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

his  deepest  interest,  was  temporarily  laid  aside  to 
give  place  to  the  things  that  so  vitally  affected  his 
heart.  He  thought  constantly  of  Matilda  as  he 
saw  her  now,  crushed  and  saddened  by  a  double 
sorrow;  and  he  yearned  to  be  her  comforter,  to 
restore  to  her  the  beauty  of  happiness,  and  all  the 
joys  that  had  formed  her  halo  of  glory.  So 
ardent  was  his  desire  to  accomplish  this  that  he 
felt  hopeful  of  achievement. 

He  spoke  of  it  with  Helene,  as  was  his  custom 
where  he  has  something  good  to  confide;  and,  as 
usual,  she  was  sympathetically  interested.  He 
prefaced  his  confidences  with  an  apology  for  his 
former  heartless  proposal,  and  digressed  exten- 
sively on  the  wisdom  of  her  refusal.  But  she 
would  not  now  refuse  to  be  his  everlasting  friend  ? 

"I  am  glad  you  have  of  yourself  come  to 
realize  the  cause  of  my  reply.  How  would  you 
feel,  now,  if  I  had  taken  you  at  your  word? " 

"  I  should  have  tried  to  do  my  duty,  as  you 
helped  me  to  do  during  the  time  when  the  Duchess 
of  Beauchamps  was  beyond  my  reach." 

[326] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

The  look  of  sincerity  in  his  deep  blue  eyes,  as 
he  looked  into  hers,  caused  her  to  reply: 

"  I  was  sure  of  it.  As  to  friendship  like  ours, 
that  is  undying.  Nothing  can  change  it,  nor 
destroy  it.  It  holds  its  place  in  the  eternal 
beauties  of  God's  universe ! " 

When  Benedict  sat  alone  in  his  bachelor  quar- 
ters that  night,  he  felt  he  wanted  to  commune 
seriously  with  himself  after  his  morning  inter- 
view with  Helene.  The  past  two  years  had 
matured  him  beyond  his  age.  He  began  to  weigh 
life's  matters  at  their  sterling  value.  He  wanted 
to  get  down  to  the  very  nuda  veritas  of  things 
common,  and  of  daily  occurrence.  He  tried  to 
fancy  his  life  side  by  side  with  Mr.  Dolliver,  that 
sober,  honest,  successful,  but  uncultured  man. 
To  satisfy  his  desire,  he  would  have  to  faire  la  vie 
en  commun.  Matilda  could  not  be  separated  from 
her  father.  That  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 
And  that  was  where  his  enamoured  reason  halted. 

While  he  was  thus  deliberating,  Satan,  in  the 
form  of  Self-Gratification  and  Passionate  Desire, 

[327] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

came  to  him.  He  led  him  unto  a  very  high 
mountain  and  tempted  him. 

"Behold  the  world!  Its  pleasures  and  desires 
fulfilled,  its  glories  of  power  in  achievements,  in 
great  wealth!  Over  all  these  will  I  give  thee 
dominion,  if  thou  wilt  follow  me." 

And  Benedict,  being  only  a  human  of  the  twen- 
tieth century,  succumbed  to  the  temptation.  So 
treacherous  are  the  wiles  of  the  serpent,  that  he  no 
sooner  let  him  taste  the  highest  pinnacle  of  human 
joy,  than  he  prepared  a  doom  to  snatch  him  from 
it,  and  cast  him  for  a  time  into  confusion  and 
despair.  It  was  only  the  power  for  good  which 
had  sustained  young  Benedict  throughout  all  his 
previous  life,  that  caused  him,  finally,  to  rise  above 
the  fiery  torrent  and  assert  his  true  self ;  not  only 
sanctified,  but  refined,  chastened,  and  empowered 
like  the  archangels  of  creation. 

When  he  reviewed  his  late  deductions  regard- 
ing his  life  in  common  with  Mr.  Dolliver,  the 
temptor's  voice  whispered  to  him  George  Her- 
bert's saintly  words:  —  "Grudge  not  to  pick  out 
treasures  from  an  earthern  pot ! "  And  the  desire 

[328] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  trample  every  obstruction  in  his  path,  grew 
stronger,  more  determined. 

In  that  same  small  room  where  their  last  inter- 
view had  been  held,  where  she  had  wrung  tears 
from  his  strong  heart,  he  came  one  day  soon  after, 
to  see  Matilda.  In  the  glaring  light  of  noonday, 
he  thought  he  could  control  his  emotions  more 
surely,  and  sound  more  guardedly  the  depths  of 
her  bruised  heart.  How  and  when  could  he 
reopen  his  plea?  He  did  not  know.  He  was 
wiser,  now,  —  he  would  bide  his  time.  The  bright 
daylight  in  which  he  saw  her  took  away  none  of 
her  charms.  In  her  sadness  and  mourning,  she 
was  even  more  beautiful,  if  possible,  but  pathet- 
ically so.  She  was  sitting  on  the  long  French 
bergere  on  which  she  had  been  reclining.  The 
impress  of  her  small  head  and  the  dark  moisture 
of  tears  were  upon  the  soft  down  pillow.  His 
heart  yearned  to  comfort  her ;  yet  it  was  she  who 
opened  the  gateway  of  fulfilment  to  his  desire  by 
saying, 

"I  need  so  much  to  be  comforted  and  loved! 
He  taught  me  the  joy,  and  the  need  of  it." 

[329] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Benedict  bent  tenderly  over  her. 

'You  once  said  that  you  thought  you  could 
learn  to  love  me.  Do  you  think  you  could  do  it, 
now?  I  will  be  so  patient  a  teacher,  I  will  try  to 
teach  you  by  loving,  that  there  is  no  other  lesson 
in  life  worth  learning." 

It  was  then  that  Matilda  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  and  wept  silently.  Was  it  from  re- 
morse at  the  remembrance  of  what  she  had  made 
him  suffer?  Or  from  regret  for  her  life  of  past 
glories  and  triumphs,  which  she  must  relinquish 
forever  if  she  gave  herself  to  him?  Who  shall 
say? 

Benedict  was  deeply  moved  by  her  tears.  He 
made  no  sound  or  motion  to  disturb  her.  He  sat 
mute,  holding  his  cold  hands  tightly  pressed  to- 
gether, till  at  length  she  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  will  try  to  learn  the  lesson  with  so  kind,  so 
forgiving,  a  teacher.  I  think  I  might  prove  a 
more  apt  pupil,  now."  A  smile  broke  through 
her  tears.  "My  experience  has  taught  me  the 
worth  of  what  you  offer." 

Benedict's  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  He  could 
[330] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

not  speak  for  a  few  brief  seconds.    When  he  did, 
he  said,  extending  his  hand, 

"  Give  me  your  hand  as  a  pledge  of  your 
promise.  I  will  not  press  you  again  against  your 
inclinations.  I  will  wait  until  you  yourself  are 
ready,  if  you  will  speak  the  word." 

She  looked  at  him  with  glowing  yet  moist  eyes. 

'  You  taught  me  first  to  beg,  and  now  you 
teach  me  how  a  beggar  should  be  answered,  like 
Portia,  with  Bassanio's  ring!  Only  think  what  a 
task  you  impose  upon  me !  Is  it  in  retribution  for 
my  former  coldness  and  heartlessness  ? " 

"Never!"  he  exclaimed,  pressing  the  hand  he 
still  held.  "  My  heart  holds  no  rancor,  but 
tenderness  for  you! " 

She  smiled  at  him  sweetly,  perhaps  expect- 
antly; but  he  remained  undemonstrative,  save  in 
his  words. 

When  he  left  her,  it  was  with  some  new-found 
feeling  in  his  being.  He  was  not  eager  but 
humbled ;  resigned  to  await  her  bidding  patiently, 
with  more  a  sense  of  exalted  spiritual  joy  than  of 
satisfied  human  passion. 

[331] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SMILE  OF  THE  SPHINX:  HELENE^S  INTERPRE- 
TATION THEREOF 

"Ah,  Moon  of  my  Delight  who  know'st  no  wane, 
The  Moon  of  Heav'n  is  rising  once  again; 
How  oft  hereafter  rising  shall  she  look 
Through  this  same  Garden  after  me  —  in  vain!" 

HELENE  DOYLE  was  not  one  "to  die 
of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain "  !  The 
Sphinx-smile  is  used  by  all  people  of  the  world. 
In  the  world  the  smile  is  various  and  manifold. 
We  make  use  of  it  to  clothe  our  diverse  feelings : 
our  affections,  when  not  requited ;  our  hatred  and 
contempt  of  those  who  come  periodically  into  our 
lives  to  smile  and  smirk,  while  nurturing  a  poison- 
ous canker  in  their  hearts;  that  of  envy,  jealousy, 
malice,  and  all  uncharitableness.  And  yet  these 
people  pose  before  the  world  as  good,  kind,  and 
amiable!  They  pretend  to  religion,  alms-giving, 

[332] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

even  to  love;  but  that  love  is  tainted  in  the 
deadly  chalice  of  inordinate  selfishness!  Persons 
whose  flattery  is  venomous;  who  cannot  tell  a 
truth  that  stings  for  fear  of  losing  a  friend ;  who 
cannot  prove  by  temperament  or  action  that  real 
love  is  patient,  enduring,  generous,  though  heart- 
breaking self-sacrifice;  persons  who  protest 
against  those  who  do,  and  criticise  every  deed  of 
good  intent. 

Helene  was  sincere.  It  was  no  wonder  she  held 
in  disdain  those  whom  she  thus  judged.  But  her 
smile  was  the  ineffable  smile  that  locked  the 
bitter  secret  within  the  innermost  recesses  of  her 
woman's  heart.  Her  own  strong,  sweet  nature 
she  revealed  with  crystalline  transparency  to  those 
whom  she  trusted  and  loved.  Her  sufferings,  her 
disappointments,  the  infinite  gnawing  griefs  that 
daily  beset  her,  she  did  not  disclose,  lest  by  so 
doing  she  should  give  pain. 

After  Matilda's  second  marriage,  which  oc- 
curred late  in  the  Fall  of  that  year,  she  retired  like 
the  crustacean  into  the  depths  of  its  shell.  Instead 
of  the  morning  visits  from  Benedict,  she  received 

[333] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

telephone  calls  from  Matilda,  begging  her  not  to 
let  the  day  pass  without  coming  to  see  her. 

"I  am  so  happy,  dear;  you  don't  know  how 
grateful  I  am  to  you,  to  all  the  dear  ones  who 
have  made  it  possible  for  me  to  look  again  into  a 
world  of  joy!" 

When  Helene  was  near  her,  Matilda  opened 
her  heart  and  spoke  more  freely  than  she  had  ever 
done. 

'  Benedict  is  an  angel!  "  she  said.  "You  don't 
know  the  depth  and  strength  and  gentleness  of  his 
love!" 

"I  know  his  nature  well,"  said  she,  who  had 
sounded  every  part  and  fibre  of  his  character  in 
her  years  of  long  communion  with  him;  and  she 
smiled  a  glorified  smile  when  she  thought  re- 
signedly, "That  love  wras  never  meant  for  me!" 

Matilda  found  endless  comfort  in  being  with 
Helene ;  in  rehearsing  her  past  experience  and  her 
now  restored  condition  of  calm  peacefulness.  But 
Helene  could  not  but  detect  a  plaintive  note  even 
in  her  expressions  of  joy.  This  may  have  re- 
sulted from  the  impression  she  herself  was 

[334] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

impelled  to  form.  Helene's  spirit  was  during  this 
period  of  her  life  saturated  with  the  plaintiveness 
of  those  who  have  lost,  for  a  time,  the  light  of  the 
sun,  who  grope  alone  through  the  chill,  damp 
darkness  of  night,  forgetting  that  the  Sun  of 
Righteous  Love  will  again  rise,  to  dispel  the  night 
shadows ! 

And  what  of  Benedict,  in  his  super-exalted 
state  of  human  bliss !  Life  to  him  had  completely 
changed  its  aspects.  The  words  of  the  prophet 
came  into  his  heart:  "For,  behold,  .  .  .  . 
new  heavens  and  a  new  earth;  and  the  former 
shall  not  be  remembered,  nor  come  into  mind." 
At  this  particular  stage  of  his  career,  his  mind 
was  alive  with  a  deep  spiritual  sense  of  his  new- 
born happiness.  Daily  his  heart  swelled  by  the 
flood  of  its  healing  stream,  permeating  every  part 
of  his  being.  His  countenance,  which  had  always 
mirrored  the  various  prismatic  lights  of  his  sen- 
tient nature,  seemed  now  transported  beyond  the 
limitations  of  ordinary  human  beings.  Every  one 
noticed  it,  his  friends  particularly. 

Sophie  Hadley,  never  slow  to  express  her 
[335] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

observations,  broke  into  the  house  one  day  with 
this  outburst: 

"I  never  saw  any  one  so  improved  by  matri- 
mony as  Benedict !  I  met  him  spinning  down  in 
Father  Dolliver's  —  or  rather  Matilda's  —  stun- 
ning new  French  car,  and  such  an  explosive  beam 
of  a  smile  I  never  saw  on  a  man's  face!  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  lost  your  wager,"  said 
Lucy,  as  they  sat  together  that  evening  on  their 
small  side  veranda.  It  was  one  of  the  luxuries 
they  enjoyed  since  Edith's  marriage;  for  after 
that  event,  Lottie  Medella  was  installed  in  their 
establishment  with  the  positive  permanence  of 
Lares  and  Penates. 

"Lost  my  wager  on  what?"  inquired  Sophie, 
with  the  sweet ,  convenient  oblivion  of  all  past 
disputations. 

"  You  said  you  would  bet  that  Helene  was  in 
love  with  Benedict." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  she  is  n't,  even  now,"  contended 
Sophie.  "  I  should  think  she  might  have  been,  in 
all  the  years  he  's  been  hanging  onto  her  apron 
strings ! " 

[336] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  I  used  to  think  so,  too,"  Lucy  went  on,  rather 
enjoying  the  topic,  "but  I  don't  now." 

"Why  not?"  queried  Sophie. 

"  Because  Helene  appears  so  well  satisfied  with 
their  marriage." 

"  Helene  doesn't  make  a  moving  picture  show 
of  her  feelings ;  but  there 's  one  thing  I  will  bet 
on,"  insisted  Sophie,  just  for  the  sake  of  argu- 
ment, "and  that  is  that  he  proposed  to  herl" 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  possible! " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  she  would  have  accepted  him.  Al- 
most any  girl  in  Baltimore  would  have,  if  she  'd 
had  the  chance,"  concluded  practical  little  Lucy 
Hadley. 

"  I  know  you  Ve  always  thought  Benedict  was 
the  only  catch  in  town.  Most  any  sighing  spinster 
would,  unless  she  was  a  fool." 

"Then,  why  did  not  Helene?  You  certainly 
don't  think  she  is  a  fool?" 

"No,  indeed;  I  admire  her  too  much;  she's  a 
very  dainty,  delicate,  dapper  little  lady,  as  the 
ballad  goes ;  only  she 's  not  little.  Maybe  he  of - 

[337] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

f ered  her  his  heart  on  ice,  like  oysters  on  the  half  - 
shell,  and  that 's  why  she  declined." 

"  Sophie !  how  ridiculous  you  are  to  imagine 
such  a  thing!" 

"  Wit  often  reasons  louder  than  wisdom,"  put 
in  Sophie. 

"  I  hope,  some  day,  you  '11  have  a  romance  of 
your  own  to  sober  you  a  little,"  said  Lucy,  laugh- 
ing in  spite  of  herself. 

"  No,  it  won't;  but  I  shouldn't  mind  much  if  I 
did,"  said  Sophie,  chirping  up  at  the  idea.  "  But, 
if  I  ever  do,  I  hope  I  won't  make  a  goose  of  my- 
self; I  know  I  '11  always  see  the  funny  side  of  it." 

And  so  time  went  on,  and  the  coterie  gradually 
adjusted  itself  to  what  had  happened.  Things 
were  at  a  tranquil  state  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
when  one  morning,  Helene  received  a  pressing 
call  from  Matilda  to  come  to  her  at  once.  Helene, 
always  on  the  alert,  and  ready  for  any  trifling 
domestic  mishap,  slipped  on  her  cloak  and  hat, 
for  it  was  mid-winter,  and  made  her  way  to  the 
Charles  Street  Avenue  mansion. 

The  day  was  not  especially  invigorating. 
[338] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Heavy  snow  clouds  hung  overhead;  the  atmos- 
phere was  gray  and  keen.  She  had  been  up  late 
the  night  before,  with  problems  of  her  own,  and 
she  was  tired.  The  moment  she  stepped  into  the 
comfortable  warmth  of  the  luxurious  home,  a 
pleasurable  sensation  came  over  her.  Mrs.  Travis 
was  in  her  own  apartments,  and  would  there 
receive  Miss  Doyle. 

Helene  found  Matilda  clothed  in  a  rich  mater- 
nity gown  of  softest  satin.  She  raised  both  arms 
to  embrace  Helene,  and  excused  herself,  on  the 
plea  that  she  was  a  little  weary  this  morning. 

"Oh,  I  am  perfectly  well;  I  have  been  all 
through;  but  my  time  is  growing  very  near.  I 
have  been  passing  a  review  of  all  the  dear  little 
articles  of  the  tiny  wardrobe.  They  appeal  so 
strongly  to  me.  I  wanted  you  to  see  them  with 
me.  I  felt  you  must  help  me  to  be  brave.  I  am 
very  hopeful,  very  happy;  but  I  have  a  strange 
dread  of  the  accouchement!  The  ladies  in  France 
make  nothing  of  it.  My  Mother  Beauchamps  has 
sent  me  the  most  beautiful  letters  of  felicitation 
and  encouragement,  which  I  read  every  day;  but 

[339  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

I  want  you,  Helena,  near  me,  very  near  me,  when 
my  time  comes!" 

Helene  was  struck  by  the  vivacity  of  her  mood, 
the  rapidity  of  her  words,  and  the  quick  succession 
of  her  phrases,  as  she  spoke  to  her. 

"You  have  no  cause  for  alarm,"  comforted 
Helene.  "You  will  have  the  best  skill  that  the 
country  affords ;  you  must  be  your  bright,  sweet, 
happy  self  to  the  end,  not  only  for  your  own  sake, 
but  for  Benedict's." 

Matilda  had  been  steeped  in  thought  at 
Helene's  opening  words,  remembering  how  they 
had  tried  to  prevent  alarm  when  there  was  every 
cause  for  it,  but  when  Helene  spoke  of  Benedict, 
quick  as  a  lightning  flash,  she  seized  her  arm,  and 
cried : 

'You  would  have  him  exempt   from  every 
trial?" 

"  Of  course,  I  would;  and  you,  as  well,  and  the 
precious  little  soul  whose  life  depends  on  your 
well-being.  Calm  yourself;  you  must  not  give 
way  to  any  but  hopeful  thoughts ! "  and  the  gentle 
pressure  of  Helene's  cool  hand  quieted  her. 

[340] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

*  You  said  you  wished  to  show  me  that  fascinat- 
ing little  trousseau." 

Matilda  smiled  gloriously,  and  led  the  way  to 
the  next  room.  They  handled  every  trifle  that 
was  to  swathe  the  new-born  babe.  Then  Matilda 
sat  down  near  the  beruffled,  beribboned  little 
basket  where  she  had  laid  the  smaller  treasures. 
She  seemed  to  gloat  over  the  sight.  Finally  she 
turned  again  to  Helene  and  breathed  a  long  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  I  am,  indeed,  very,  very  happy;  and  I  feel  so 
much  better  about  everything  since  you  camel" 
She  gazed  intently  into  the  eyes  of  her  friend ;  so 
much  so,  that  she  did  not  notice  the  pearly  tears 
trembling  on  her  lashes,  nor  the  cold  moisture  of 
the  delicate  fingers  she  was  pressing.  "  Promise 
me  that  you  will  be  very  near;  that  you  will  come 
to  me  at  any  moment  if  I  need  you;  and  if — if  I 
should  not  get  well,  that  you  will  take  my  little 
one,  and  mother  it  as  if  it  were  your  own!  Give 
me  your  loyal  word  that  you  will  do  this  for 
me  —  if  I  should  pass  into  the  dark  valley! " 

This  plea  from  Matilda  Dolliver,  who  had 
[341] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

been  the  recipient  of  Heaven's  most  gracious  fa- 
vors, to  Helene  Doyle,  who  had  been  deprived  of 
so  much,  sent  an  icy  current  around  her  throb- 
bing heart. 

"Cease  from  holding  such  thoughts,  Matilda; 
how  can  you  do  it  when  you  have  just  acknowl- 
edged that  you  were  happy  ?  How  can  happiness 
or  love  entertain  such  fears  ?  You  who  have  been 
blessed  far  beyond  the  lot  of  other  women!  Do 
you  not  think  of  Benedict,  your  husband ;  Bene- 
dict, the  crowning  blessing  of  your  life ! "  Helene's 
sensitive  lips  quivered  as  she  uttered  the  words 
without  a  smile ;  but  a  sadly  reproachful  look  came 
into  her  deep  gray  eyes.  Matilda  stared  at  her  a 
moment ;  a  strange  light  came  into  her  own  eyes ; 
perhaps  the  awakening  of  maternal  intuition. 
She  flung  both  arms  about  Helene's  shoulders, 
crying,  convulsively, 

"My  dear,  dear  friend!  I  see  it,  now,  the 
secret  you  have  been  hiding  so  long,  so  well,  from 
us  all.  Ah,  mon  dieu,  mon  dieu,  que  faire?  You 
have  been  loving  him  all  the  while ;  you  love  him 
now!" 

[342] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"Hush!"  cried  Helena,  struck  with  mortal 
dread  at  witnessing  her  agitation. 

But  Matilda  went  on  in  a  mood  of  self -contri- 
tion that  was  near  delirium.  "  I  have  robbed  you, 
my  best  and  truest  friend,  of  the  greatest  joy  this 
earth  can  give!  I  have  robbed  them  over  there, 
of  their  peace  and  latter-day  happiness !  Oh,  my 
God,  save  me  from  the  tortures  of  hell! " 

Helene  rang  for  the  attendants,  maids,  and 
trained  nurses,  all  of  whom  were  already  in  the 
house.  A  physician  was  quickly  summoned,  for 
Mrs.  Travis  was  violently  ill.  The  nurses  bore 
her  to  her  bed,  and  applied  the  prescribed  quietus 
till  the  doctors  arrived.  These  remained  in  con- 
sultation till  nightfall,  when  they  succeeded  in 
lulling  her  to  sleep,  promising  to  return  when 
the  needful  moment  came. 

Helene  Doyle  also  departed;  but  returned  to 
spend  the  night  lest  Matilda  should  wake  and  call 
for  her.  In  the  anxious  confusion  of  the  moment, 
she,  as  well  as  those  of  the  house,  had  completely 
forgotten  Benedict.  The  thought  smote  her  with 
anguish.  He  could  not  be  allowed  to  return  home, 

[343] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  this  crisis  of  danger,  without  preparation.  She 
sped  around  the  corner  to  the  telephone  station. 
She  called  for  his  office  number;  it  was  but  little 
after  five,  but  the  operator  could  get  no  reply 
from  that  quarter.  Helene  turned  the  matter  in 
her  mind;  he  had  perhaps  gone  out  with  a  col- 
league and  was  talking  at  length,  which  would 
delay  his  return.  She  would  have  time  to  go 
home  and  attend  to  some  small  domestic  matters 
for  her  mother.  While  there  she  received  inter- 
mittent calls  from  Amanda  saying  Mr.  Travis 
had  not  returned;  and  no  answers  came  to  the 
frequent  calls  to  his  office!  What  should  they  do? 

Helene  pacified  her  with  her  own  explanation 
of  his  absence.  The  office  boys  had  all  gone  home. 
She  would  come  herself,  shortly,  and  think  up 
what  they  should  do. 

Helene  snatched  a  hurried  taste  of  her  dinner, 
and,  utterly  avoiding  her  mother's  fretful  ques- 
tions concerning  the  cause  of  her  excitement,  dis- 
appeared quickly  out  of  the  house,  in  the  act  of 
adjusting  her  long  cloak  about  her.  When  she 
reached  the  Dolliver  mansion,  she  stood  face  to 

[344] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

face  with  Benedict,  coming  from  the  opposite 
direction,  his  face  abloom  with  his  usual  jovial 
smile,  and  his  spirits  witnessed  by  his  keen,  shrill 
whistle. 

"  Hello,  Helene !  "  he  cried.  "  What  good-luck 
brings  you  here  at  this  hour  ? "  She  preceded  him 
rapidly,  and  he  did  not  see  her  face  till  they  both 
stood  under  the  hall-light.  Then  he  knew  sud- 
denly something  was  wrong. 

"Helene!  What  is  it?  Tell  me  quick;  are 
you  in  trouble? " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  her  large  gray  eyes 
welling  with  tears  she  could  not  control,  "  No ; 
it  is  you!" 

He  turned  to  make  a  dash  up-stairs;  but  she 
stayed  him  with  her  hand. 

11  Don't  go  in  to  her,  now;  the  doctors  are  both 
there.  Wait  till  you  are  sent  for." 

Benedict  dropped  into  a  hall-chair,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  The  sudden  shock  from 
his  joyous  mood  caused  him  to  falter  a  moment. 

'''  Tell  me  the  worst,  Helene.  Don't  hide  any- 
thing from  me." 

[345] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

She  bent  down  near  him  and  put  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"You  will  be  brave,  dear,  as  you  always  are. 
Matilda  is  very  ill.  She  sent  for  me  this  morn- 
ing and  I  came  and  found  her  in  a  strange  mood. 
She  has  had  a  violent  attack  of  hysteria.  We 
had  her  put  to  bed.  The  two  physicians  are  here. 
I  returned,  because  she  said  she  wished  me  to  be 
near." 

Benedict  recovered  his  self-possession  and  be- 
gan to  walk  up  and  down  the  great  hall.  Its 
lights  and  luxury  irritated  him.  In  all  this  glam- 
our of  sumptuousness,  he  felt  utterly  helpless. 

"And  is  there  nothing  I  can  do?"  he  said  at 
length,  suddenly  recalling  Helene's  presence. 

"Nothing;  all  is  being  done  that  is  possible  to 
do,"  returned  she,  following  him  with  a  look  of 
yearning  solicitude  to  which  he  was  absolutely  in- 
different. They  kept  the  silent  vigil  far  into  the 
night,  with  only  a  whispered  remark  from  Bene- 
dict when  the  stern  waiting  grew  too  oppressive. 

At  last,  a  maid  came  tiptoeing  down  stairs  to 

[•*•] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

say  Miss  Doyle  was  wanted.  The  poor  fellow 
made  a  frantic  effort  to  follow  her;  but  he  was 
withheld  at  the  door  of  the  room.  Matilda's  de- 
lirium was  at  its  height.  She  was  tossing  her 
arms  about  wildly  and  crying  for  Helene.  The 
great  ordeal  was  over;  but  the  dread  fever  had 
sapped  her  excited  brain,  and  she  was  raving  of 
the  wrong  she  had  caused,  her  dread,  and  yet  her 
certainty  of  death. 

Helene's  cool  hand  upon  Matilda's  hot,  pulsat- 
ing wrist  produced  a  temporary  lull  in  her  condi- 
tion. She  could  not  articulate ;  she  could  only  give 
forth  the  most  excruciating  groans  of  mental 
torture.  She  pointed  to  the  cradle,  then  wrapped 
her  burning  hands  about  Helene's  neck,  trying  by 
the  intensity  of  her  feeling  to  extract  a  promise  in 
words  she  no  longer  could  frame. 

Helene  soothed  her  throbbing  temples,  stroked 
her  shining  hair,  and  bent  low  to  murmur  some- 
thing in  her  ear;  then  the  fever  dropped  two  or 
three  degrees,  tears  streamed  from  her  dilated 
eyes  now  closed  by  a  sudden  stupor.  Helene  was 
released  from  her  strenuous  embrace  by  the  two 

[347] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

nurses,  and  went  out  to  conjure  up  a  glimmer 
of  hope  for  Benedict. 

"  She  is  quiet  now;  if  the  fever  can  be  checked, 
there  is  a  chance.  I  entreat  you,  go  to  your  rest. 
You  will  need  it." 

Benedict,  completely  subdued  by  the  strength 
of  her  ministry,  did  as  he  was  told.  She,  also, 
went  to  a  room  quite  near  Matilda's,  to  rest,  but 
not  to  sleep.  Few  closed  their  eyes  that  night, 
knowing  how  the  dark  angel  hovered  with  droop- 
ing wings  over  the  prostrated  home. 


[348] 


CHAPTER  XX 

BENEDICT  CANNOT  ACCEPT  THE  INEVITABLE 

"  And  when  Thyself  with  Shining  Foot  shall  pass 
Among  the  Guests  Star-scatter' d  on  the  Grass, 

And  in  thy  joyous  Errand  reach  the  Spot 
Where  I  made  one  —  turn  down  an  empty  Glass!" 

THE  dread  fever  which  modern  science  has 
been  able  to  conquer  in  many  crises  like 
Matilda's,  in  her  particular  case,  had  won. 

The  shocking  intelligence  was  communicated 
to  the  members  of  the  afflicted  household.  When 
the  room  where  Matilda  lay.  He  followed 
morning  broke  and  the  necessary  daily  move- 
ments of  a  large  establishment  like  the  Dolliver 
house  went  forth,  it  was  with  the  oppressive  still- 
ness of  sudden  calamity.  Helene  Doyle  had  to 
be  called  to  draw  Benedict  away  from  the  stupe- 
fying scene.  For  three  days  he  walked  about  the 
house  like  one  stunned,  when  compelled  to  leave 

[  349  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Helene  about  speechlessly;  but  with  a  look  that 
seemed  to  wish  to  extract  from  her  a  reason  for 
this,  to  him,  appalling  state  of  things.  It  was 
only  after  Matilda  had  been  carried  out  of  his 
presence  that  he  realized  he  must  lift  the  cast- 
down  wings  of  his  spirit  in  order  to  do  his  duty 
and  live. 

Poor  Ario  Dolliver  had  not  the  philosophy 
which  Helene  Doyle  exerted  to  support  the 
bereaved  father  and  husband.  When  he  learned 
that  Matilda's  child  was  a  girl,  his  head  fell  on 
his  chest  as  if  he  were  robbed  of  his  last  ambition 
in  life.  The  two  men,  united  for  the  time  being 
by  their  common  sorrow,  felt  the  intolerable  ab- 
sence from  their  home  of  its  former  love  propel- 
lers. The  time  soon  came  when  the  subject  of 
Matilda's  wishes  regarding  the  child  had  to  be 
discussed  between  them. 

To  Benedict,  considering  his  past  association 
with  Helene,  it  was  the  most  plausible,  and  there- 
fore, acceptable  conclusion.  As  for  Ario  Dolliver, 
if  the  child  had  been  a  son,  he  might  have  con- 
ceived some  other  plan  for  having  him  brought 

[350] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

up  at  home  under  his  fatherly  influence.  But 
a  girl,  perhaps  such  another  as  Matilda,  —  he 
could  not  think  of  it  without  his  beloved  Emmy  to 
guard  her  early  years.  He  felt  he  could  not 
again  elevate  another  girl,  even  though  she 
were  his  granddaughter,  to  the  heights  he  had 
raised  her  mother.  It  was  hardly  possible  that 
the  length  of  his  days  upon  earth  would  permit 
it.  The  late  nearness  of  Helene  Doyle  and  her 
inclusion  in  the  only  deep  sorrows  he  had  ever 
known,  fixed  the  point  of  their  mutual  decision. 
Little  Helen,  as  she  was  to  be  called  by 
Matilda's  well-nigh  imperative  command,  was  to 
be  transplanted  to  the  more  humble  but,  also, 
more  cultured  home  on  St.  John's  Avenue. 
Everything  that  was  necessary  to  the  well-being 
and  comfort  of  the  little  daughter  of  a  man  like 
Benedict  Travis  was  provided,  and  would  follow 
her  thither.  Benedict's  heart  was  so  filled  with 
its  still  bleeding  wound,  that  he  had  no  thought 
of  admitting  in  it  the  small  intruder.  He  was 
governed,  too,  by  a  rather  unnatural  feeling  of 
resentment  toward  the  innocent  cause  of  his  sor- 

[351] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

row.  It  would  be  a  long  time,  he  felt,  before  he 
could  take  any  interest  in  the  child,  or  allow  it 
to  occupy  any  place  in  the  vessel  that  had  been 
consecrated  to  her  fair  young  mother.  Hence 
it  fell  to  Helene  Doyle  to  cherish  and  nurture 
the  motherless  infant. 

At  first,  Benedict  had  nothing  to  which  he 
could  turn  for  solace  but  his  magnum  opus, 
which  had  been  growing  during  the  first  year  of 
his  marriage.  He  plunged  into  it  with  the  fer- 
vent hope  that  here  he  would  find  the  balm  of 
self-forgetfulness.  He  toiled  at  it  early  and 
late,  sometimes  heedless  of  the  late  telephone 
calls  that  rang  to  remind  him  of  his  dinner  hour. 
He  had  pursued  this  method  of  enforced  consola- 
tion for  many  months,  when  the  voice  of  the  inner 
man  cried  out  to  him  pitifully  but  command- 
ingly.  His  great  need  of  human  companionship 
led  him  to  turn  once  more  to  Helene  Doyle,  the 
one  being  with  whom  he  could  relieve  his  heart 
when  the  burden  became  too  weighty.  But 
when  he  came  now,  it  was  always  late  in  the 
evening  when  he  knew  her  charge  would  be 

[352] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

asleep;  so  that  nothing  should  harshly  accentuate 
the  reality  of  his  changed  condition. 

He  knew  something  of  Helene's  theories  on 
the  subject  of  the  after  life,  but  there  had  never 
been  as  potent  a  necessity  for  him  to  discuss 
them  with  her,  as  now.  Helene  had  inherited 
her  father's  taste  for  research  among  the  works 
of  great  thinkers  like  Flammarion  and  others, 
to  glean  some  light  upon  the  mysticism  of  the 
realms  beyond.  Her  belief  was  that  we  would 
wake  from  death  as  we  wake  from  sleep;  that  as 
we  had  lived  this  life,  we  should  continue  in  the 
same  mind  into  the  next.  It  was  only  a  modern 
repetition  of  the  Parable  of  the  Good  Seed ;  what 
we  had  sewn,  we  should  reap,  by  the  mysterious 
evolution  which  governs  all  species  of  life 
around  us.  Had  we  not  proof  of  it  in  nature, 
in  the  periodical  return  of  the  seasons,  the 
symbolical  waking  and  sleeping  of  all  that  lives ! 

But  Benedict,  with  the  keen  memory  of  his 
loss  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  argued: 

"  If  those  who  pass  out  of  this  world  in  youth, 
health,  and  beauty  must  return  to  their  first 

[353] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

stages  of  growth  as  do  the  plants,  trees,  and  other 
vegetation  that  re-live  from  year  to  year,  then 
is  there  no  real  adjustment  of  personal  ties? 

"No;  the  human  family  is  too  vast  to  con- 
sider individual  relations.  As  our  great  modern 
poet  says,  '  All  memory  sifting  with  Time's 
gentle  art/  we  lose  sight  of  our  past  woes,  and 
find  full  and  perfect  compensation  in  new  ties." 

Benedict  appreciated  Helene's  breadth  of 
soul,  and  the  large  scope  of  her  views  on  like 
subjects.  But  he  was  not  yet  ready  to  espouse 
and  support  them. 

There  was  another  gifted  gentleman  in  Balti- 
more, who  knew  Helene  Doyle,  not  quite  so  well 
as  Benedict,  but  who  always  raised  his  hat  in 
passing  her  door  out  of  respect  for  the  sacred 
presence  that  dwelt  there. 

Benedict,  like  all  who  have  passed  through 
great  sorrow,  was  intensely  self-absorbed.  He 
did  not  wish  to  forget  his  trouble.  He  brooded 
over  it,  taking  a  morbid  comfort  in  recalling  all 
the  ecstasies  he  had  felt  while  ascending  to  the 
fatal  hypothenuse  of  worldly  enjoyment.  He 

[354] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

had  been  so  conscious  of  his  divine  harmony  with 
all  things  good!  This  unexpired  bolt  from 
heaven,  in  the  midst  of  perfect  peace  and  joy, 
staggered  and  changed  his  life  to  one  of  desola- 
tion, in  spite  of  health,  strength,  and  power  to 
achieve;  for  in  this  he  was  rich  enough. 

When  springtime  came  again,  and  he  rode 
through  the  parks  of  the  city,  some  slight  cir- 
cumstance, like  the  tone  of  a  voice,  the  scent 
of  a  certain  flower,  the  glimpse  of  a  strikingly 
beautiful  woman,  reminding  him  of  Matilda, 
would  stir  within  him  all  the  memories  that 
had  graced  the  morning  of  his  life.  His 
fancy  would  then  brighten  him  to  a  smile,  the 
consciousness  of  which  would  immediately  cast 
him  into  that  most  dangerous  abyss,  self-pity. 
To  think  of  that  beautiful,  adorable  creature, 
cut  down  in  the  fulness  of  young  womanhood; 
torn  from  his  side  by  death,  and  laid  in  the  cold, 
cold  earth  away  from  all  that  she  had  loved,  the 
warmth  of  tenderness,  adulation,  and  the  triumph 
of  young  motherhood  in  her  first-born ! 

He  could  not,  or  would  not  think  of  her  in 
[355] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

death;  white,  silent,  unmoved  by  his  passionate 
appeals,  for  it  reminded  him  of  the  time  when 
he  had  pleaded  with  her  and  she  had  remained 
cruelly  beautiful.  Yet  even  then,  smiling 
through  her  tears,  she  had  sought  to  comfort 
him.  It  was  that  alone  which  had  kept  him 
from  despairing,  from  giving  up  the  conflict. 
Now,  it  was  different.  Before,  he  had  proved 
to  himself  that  all  things  in  life  were  possible; 
but  in  death,  there  was  no  resisting  the  unseen 
forces  that  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  have 
changed  the  destiny  of  kingdoms,  have  brought 
desolation  to  the  happiest  hearths!  He  had  no 
refuge  but  hard,  unremitting  toil.  He  would 
drown  the  sting  of  its  torment  by  going  down 
as  deeply  into  the  subjects  jthat  were  to  promote 
his  great  law  book,  as  he  had  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  misery.  There  was  nothing  that 
could  take  the  place  of  his  work,  or  bring  the 
needed  relief  to  his  bruised  spirit.  He  was  still 
too  young  to  realize  that  our  most  heart-rend- 
ing emotions  inspire  our  greatest  and  noblest 
deeds. 

[356] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Mrs.  Doyle  now  gazed  upon  Benedict  with 
a  kind  of  awe-stricken  expression,  commingled 
with  deference  whenever  she  met  him,  and  had 
no  hesitancy  in  expressing  her  feelings  when  he 
was  absent. 

"  Such  a  preposterous  arrangement  of  affairs; 
I  never  heard  of  the  like.  My  daughter,  im- 
posed upon  with  the  care  of  a  child  not  her  own! " 
she  exclaimed  with  indignation.  '  Well,  there 
is  only  one  thing  to  redeem  us  in  the  eyes  of 
our  friends ;  his  paying  every  cent  of  the  expense 
incurred  thereby.  A  nurse,  we  are  obliged  to 
have,  and  two  maids  instead  of  one.  Of  course, 
I  do  not  object  to  them,  they  relieve  me,  and 
also  Helene  of  much  additional  care.  And  what 
will  it  all  lead  to,  in  the  end,  I  should  like  to 
know!" 

There  was  no  one  in  the  vicinity  able  to  give 
Mrs.  Doyle  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  Helene 
was  more  Sphinx-like  and  speechless  than  ever 
on  that  subject  and  the  poor  lady  was  left  to 
her  own  deductions,  which  were  to  hope  for  the 
best,  and  expect  the  worse. 

[357] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

As  time  went  on  the  domestic  matters  of  the 
Dolliver  household,  which  included  Benedict,  re- 
sumed a  more  normal  and  more  natural  aspect, 
Every  one  interested  seemed  to  be  reconciled  to 
the  extraordinary  arrangement  that  Helene 
Doyle  should  guard  the  earliest  years  of  Ma- 
tilda's child. 

She  fell  to  the  task  as  naturally  and  uncom- 
plainingly as  she  had  done  to  everything  imposed 
upon  her  as  a  duty.  But  perhaps  to  this  she  lent 
more  willingness  and  desire.  With  her  sensitive, 
affectionate  nature,  she  took  the  full  blame  of 
the  catastrophe  upon  herself,  still  covered  by  her 
smile  of  plaintive  serenity.  She  suffered  untold 
agonies  in  listening  to  Benedict's  broken-hearted 
lamentations.  She  constantly  strove  to  lift  him 
out  of  the  despondency  that  was  gradually 
settling  down  upon  him,  watching  his  moods, 
inviting  his  sympathy  when  that  seemed  to  afford 
him  relief,  or  shunning  it  whenever  he  wished 
to  be  silent. 

Fortunately  or  unfortunately  for  those  who 
mourned  Matilda,  her  nature  had  not  been  one 

[358] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  be  greatly  shocked  or  materially  injured  by 
the  discovery  of  Helene's  secret.  Had  she  lived 
she  would  have  subdued  it  and  her  friend  to 
her  power  and  service  without  any  uncomfort- 
able feelings  to  herself.  But  in  Helene  Doyle's 
twofold  affliction,  her  wrong  to  Matilda  magni- 
fied itself  to  an  intensity  that  formed  the  keynote 
of  all  her  sufferings. 

There  are  natures  who  never  divulge  the 
sacredness  of  their  innermost  feelings;  and 
these  we  have  no  right  to  delineate  without  dis- 
crimination, to  expose  the  most  sensitive  fibres 
of  their  being.  She  had  not  shown  her  suffer- 
ings, her  disappointments,  her  moments  of 
despair,  to  the  thoughtless,  shallow  world  that 
judged  her  as  a  sweet  but  emotionless  woman. 

Of  those  who  understood  her  least  was 
Helene's  own  mother.  In  spite  of  her  daugh- 
ter's perpetual  efforts  to  look  and  point  out  to 
others  the  brighter  side  of  everything,  Mrs.  Doyle 
invariably  checked  all  her  impulses  to  be  hopeful, 
inciting  the  poor  girl  to  an  occasional  "turning 
of  the  worm."  Then  the  mother  would  fly  into 

[359] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

passionate  recriminations,  and  accuse  Helene  of 
undutiful  conduct. 

"  Can't  you  see  how  unreasonable  you  are, 
Helene  ?  You  get  excited  and  fly  into  a  vortex.  I 
never  saw  you  nervous  and  irritable  before,  or 
get  so  wrought  up  at  the  least  little  thing  I  say 
about  anything.  It  is  a  great  pity,  indeed,  if, 
at  my  time  of  life,  I  'm  not  allowed  to  express 
my  opinions  about  what  goes  on  in  this  house ! " 
And  Mrs.  Doyle  would  bridle  up  and  agitate  her 
gauze  fan  in  quite  a  gale  of  vexation. 

"I  really  think  it  is  that  child's  being  in  the 
house;  your  whole  attention,  devotion,  and  mind 
are  lavished  upon  her,  and  you  are  wearing  your- 
self out.  I  always  said  the  whole  thing  was  an 
insane  idea,  but  of  course  my  wishes  were  not 
consulted.  You  will  become  a  nervous  wreck, 
yourself,  like  Benedict,  if  you  are  not  more 
careful!" 

Outbursts  of  this  nature  were  of  frequent 
occurrence  in  the  dignified  home,  and  in  time 
left  their  effect  upon  Helene;  but  it  was  due  to 
the  continual  conflict  with  that  negative  spirit, 

[360] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

robbing  her  of  a  woman's  natural  impulse,  as  she 
had  robbed  her  in  childhood. 

But  Helene's  frank  outpouring  of  a  warm 
and  loving  nature  found  its  outlet  in  the  child, 
Benedict's  child,  to  whom  she  could  disclose  her 
strongest,  her  best,  her  most  fearless  emotions. 

Several  years  elapsed  during  which  Helene 
kept  her  trust  and  failed  in  no  respect.  She  had 
mothered  the  innocent,  helpless  child  and  won  her 
love  through  its  most  natural  channels.  Little 
Helen,  waking  to  her  first  consciousness  through 
the  loving  tenderness  of  Aunt  Helene,  had  not 
felt  the  loss  of  her  own  mother.  The  time  came 
when,  with  keen  perception,  she  differentiated  be- 
tween the  terms,  "  auntie  "  and  "  mother." 

"  You  call  Mrs.  Doyle  '  mother,'  and  the  little 
girls  at  kindergarten  speak  of  their  mothers! 
You  are  like  their  mothers  to  me  and  I  call  you 
Aunt  Helene." 

The  complexity  of  affectionate  near  relation- 
ship was  too  deep  a  subject  to  satisfy  the  bright 
little  mind.  So  Helene  explained: 

;'The  words  'mother'  and  'auntie'  are  almost 
[361] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  same,  dear.  If  I  had  a  sister  and  you  were 
her  little  girl  I  would  love  you  almost  as  much 
as  she;  and  I  would  do  as  much  for  you  as  she 
would,  if  she  were  not  living." 

"Was  my  mother  your  sister,  Aunt  Helene?" 
"No;  but  I  loved  her  just  as  much  as  if  she 
had  been." 

"  Then,  it  is  just  the  same,  only  the  names  are 
different,"  replied  the  trustful  little  girl,  quite 
satisfied  with  the  explanation.  With  Helene's 
mother,  the  child  was  deferential,  ceremonial, 
always  calling  her  "  Mrs.  Doyle,"  never  offer- 
ing a  caress  and  rarely  yielding  to  one.  With 
Aunt  Helene,  she  lavished  all  the  fondness 
of  her  reserved  little  heart,  whenever  they  were 
alone.  She  scarcely  knew  her  father.  He 
had  hardly  noticed  her  during  her  immediate 
babyhood;  and  though  she  had  grown  to  that 
important  age  of  four  when  little  girls  are 
taken  to  private  kindergartens,  where  their  re- 
fined little  natures  need  not  be  shocked  by  the 
speech  and  manners  of  undesirable  people,  she 
retained  for  her  father  the  same  reticence, 

[362] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

inherited  from  her  mother  when  not  perfectly 
sure  of  one's  sympathy. 

Benedict  had  spoken  with  her  at  the  rare 
times  when  he  visited  the  Doyles  during  her  wak- 
ing hours.  Helene  was  more  amused  than 
pleased  at  his  timid,  hesitating  manner  of  ap- 
proaching her.  A  child  is  quick  to  feel  the 
responsive  heart  that  throbs  to  its  own.  She 
would  hasten  away  to  school,  first  embracing 
Helene,  and  pausing  at  her  father's  knee,  ac- 
cording to  Auntie's  instruction,  and  holding  up 
her  little  face  for  him  to  place  a  butterfly  kiss  on 
her  rosy  cheek,  which  greeting  enthused  her  de- 
parture with  her  waiting  nurse. 

Mrs.  Doyle  rarely  assisted  at  these  little 
ceremonies,  although  she  was  always  sweetly 
affable  in  meeting  Benedict.  The  atmosphere 
of  the  home  was  naturally  a  little  strained,  with 
that  minor  element  of  loving  expansion  and 
sincerity  in  the  other  two.  Benedict  was  pressed 
with  immediate  duties  at  his  office  and  disap- 
peared accordingly.  His  evenings  he  spent 
chiefly  at  his  work,  "  Higher  Jurisprudence," 

[363] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

until  the  late  hour  and  physical  weariness  drew 
him  back  to  the  deserted  mansion. 

It  was  then  that  the  Atwood  ladies,  by  a 
strange  irony  of  fate,  came  to  the  rescue.  Angela 
who  had  always  felt  a  certain  sympathy  for 
Helene,  and  Maud  wrho  pretended  to  do  so, 
evolved  the  bright  idea  of  inviting  Mrs.  Doyle 
to  spend  the  summer  at  their  attractive  home 
in  the  Thousand  Islands.  Mrs.  Doyle  consented 
after  due  deliberation,  relishing  the  prospect  of 
living  in  absolute  luxury,  with  motor-cars,  motor- 
launches,  and  servants  at  her  disposal. 

"  I  think  it  would  really  do  me  a  world  of 
good,  Helene;  and  you  can  get  on  very  well 
with  the  two  maids  and  the  housekeeper  until 
October."  To  which  miraculous  decision  Helene 
acquiesced  with  tremulous  though  solicitous 
readiness. 

The  news  of  it  was  hailed  with  joy  by  the 
clique  of  non-vacationists  particularly  concerned. 
Sophie  Hadley  could  not  repress  her  indignant 
merriment. 

"  Mrs.  Doyle  's  going  to  the  Thousand  Islands 
[364] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

with  the  Atwoods !  Well,  I  '11  be  humdrummed ! 
Good  riddance  to  the  whole  bunch  of  bad  rub- 
bish! It  reminds  me  of  that  man,  I  read  about 
in  the  newspapers  this  morning  —  newspaper 
wit,  you  know  —  whose  wife  was  so  nervously 
prostrated  after  living  with  him  three  years  that 
she  started  out  in  quest  of  a  quiet  summer  resort. 
Meeting  some  friends  in  Philadelphia,  she 
telegraphed  him: 

"  '  Dear,  I  'm  going  to  the  Thousand  Islands 
with  the  Duffies.' 

"He  telegraphed  back:  'All  right,  dearest, 
stay  at  least  a  week  in  each  island ! ' 

"  That 's  what  I  'd  like  to  do  with  the  whole 
kit  of  them  —  Atwoods  and  Mother  Doyle.  I 
think  that  woman  is  the  limit  of  endurance. 
She'll  be  a  sweet  element  in  Benedict's  and 
Helene's  home  if  they  ever  do  make  a  match. 
Old  women  like  that  can't  be  pleasant  to  live 
with  and  ought  to  be  summarily  dealt  with,  like 
those  Eskimos  that  man  lectured  about  last 
winter  at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A." 

"Oh,  Sophie!"  ejaculated  Lucy,  fearing  she 
[365] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  in  for  a  long  story.     ;c  What  Eskimos  do 
you  mean?" 

"Why,  don't  you  remember?  He  said  that 
that  part  of  Alaska  was  an  ideal  place  for  family 
harmony.  Mothers,  grandmothers,  and,  worst  of 
all,  old  maids  past  sixty-five  were  cordially  in- 
vited to  submit  to  the  decrees  of  the  land;  that 
is,  to  attire  themselves  in  their  best  Sunday-go- 
to-meeting  gowns,  and  allow  themselves  to  be 
gently  put  to  the  quietus  of  all  their  earthly 
woes  by  the  sudden  jerking  of  a  slip  noose 
around  the  neck,  in  the  presence  of  their  as- 
sembled families.  Mothers  Atwood  and  Doyle 
ought  to  be  progressively  transported  from  each 
one  of  the  Thousand  Islands  to  the  land  of  those 
Eskimos." 

'  You  had  better  be  careful  how  you  talk 
about  old  ladies  and  old  maids,"  warned  Lucy, 
assuming  a  smilingly  reproachful  look  at  her 
elder  sister.  '  You  might  get  to  be  one  yourself, 
if  you  live  long  enough,"  and  Lucy  dismissed 
the  subject  from  her  own  mind,  feeling  almost 
sure  that  she  would  never  be  one  herself. 

[366] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  In  this  civilized  land  of  Christianity,  I  would 
limit  the  execution  to  the  disagreeable  ones,  for 
I  'm  not  an  old  maid ;  and  I  never  expect  to  be, 
if  that  means  that  you  have  to  grow  old  and 
cranky  and  take  a  hateful  and  sour  view  of  life. 
Thank  goodness,  I  can  see  the  good  and  bright 
or  funny  side  of  everything!" 

And  Sophie  spoke  the  truth. 


[367] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BENEDICT  PAYS  A  RUDE  PENALTY 

"  There  was  the  Door  to  which  I  found  no  Key; 
There  was  the  Veil  through  which  I  might  not  see; 

Some  little  talk  a  while  of  Me  and  Thee 
There  was  —  and  then  no  more  of  Thee  and  Me" 

TO  add  to  Benedict's  cup  of  trouble,  Ario 
Dolliver,  after  a  hard  fight  to  reconcile  his 
life  without  his  loved  ones,  gave  up  the  struggle. 
When  Matilda  died,  life  for  him  was  robbed  of 
its  last  great  attraction.  He  was  content  to  turn 
over  to  Benedict  the  bulk  of  his  stupendous  inter- 
ests, knowing  his  trustworthiness,  making  him 
co-sharer  in  all  his  wealth.  They  spent  many 
hours  together,  dissecting  the  various  intricacies 
of  multitudinous  "  schemes."  Mr.  Dolliver's  am- 
bition had  been  unquenched,  till  the  one  who  had 
inspired  it  was  no  more.  He  wished  to  leave  a 
good  fourth  of  his  fortune  to  such  public  charities 

[368] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

of  the  city  as  he  endorsed.  The  remainder  was 
to  be  his  granddaughter's,  left  in  charge  of  the 
father,  who  was  to  be  chief  executor  of  the  will 
and  residuary  legatee.  Having  thus  prudently 
and  justly  disposed  of  all  his  worldly  goods,  he 
turned  his  thoughts  to  the  transmutation  of  him- 
self into  the  world  to  come.  That  there  was 
such  a  world  he  inwardly  rejoiced  in  believing. 
The  ego,  the  great  I  Am,  in  him  was  as  strong 
as  ever  despite  his  broken  human  vesture.  He 
was  not  ready  to  stop  doing;  he  would  go  on 
working  and  loving  in  endless  ages  to  come. 
And  in  this  exalted  state  of  mind,  he  passed  to 
the  long  rest  that  would  ultimately  clothe  him  in 
power  and  strength  to  attain  the  spiritual  goal. 

Benedict  was  intensely  impressed  by  the 
largesse  of  this  plain,  sober-minded,  just  man, 
and  his  attitude  towards  the  future.  It  was  here 
that  Ario  Dolliver  exemplified  Helene  Doyle's 
idea,  that  life  is  not  "an  eternal  petrifaction." 
Pie  had  not  had  the  study  and  learning  which 
some  of  us  require  to  give  birth  to  these  interpreta- 
tions ;  but  he  had  in  him  the  faith  to  do  right  and 

[369] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  mount  to  his  worldly  achievements  by  steps 
that  were  honest  and  fair.  Benedict  felt  more 
humbled  than  grieved  when  he  helped  to  bear  his 
father-in-law  out  of  his  home.  He  had  felt  the 
influence  of  this  strong,  upright,  always  cheer- 
ful nature  upon  himself.  It  reflected  by  con- 
trast his  own  small,  selfish  views  of  the  things 
that  had  come  to  cross  his  pathway,  his  grief, 
and  the  consequent  loss  of  the  bright,  hopeful 
spirit  which  Mr.  Dolliver  had  never  ceased  to  hold 
in  his  presence.  And  it  did  much  to  restore  his 
own  manhood. 

It  was  not  long  after,  that  Benedict  began  to 
consider  more  seriously  his  position  as  head  of 
a  family  with  a  child  and  a  great  fortune  to 
direct.  His  morose  attitude  toward  himself  and 
the  rest  of  the  world  was  certainly  not  to  be  main- 
tained indefinitely.  Shortly  after  Ario  left 
him,  he  completed  his  book.  His  mind,  cudgelled 
by  affliction,  had  given  forth  in  his  work  the 
best,  the  strongest,  the  most  that  it  could  render; 
and  it  increased  his  sadness  to  feel  that  the  one  be- 
ing who  he  had  hoped  would  share  its  emoluments 

[  S70  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

with  him,  was  gone.  He  took  up  its  pages, 
fondly  leafing  them  one  by  one.  So  many 
memories  were  intertwined  among  those  at  its 
beginning!  He  could  not  bear  to  part  with 
them.  He  dreaded  to  submit  them,  lest  the  pub- 
lic who  would  read  them  might  guess  the  tender 
thoughts  which  had  given  them  their  first,  most 
powerful  impulse. 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  in  his  now  lonely 
grandeur  feeling  very  much  as  Mrs.  Dolliver  had 
done  in  her  first  days  of  occupancy,  he  rose  with 
sudden  decision,  walked  to  the  telephone  and 
called  up  the  Philosopher.  He  was  the  gentle- 
man who  raised  his  hat  in  passing  Helene  Doyle's 
residence. 

He  acted  promptly  on  the  summons,  having 
for  Benedict  that  feeling  of  fellowship  which 
sometimes  hold  men  together  "  through  thick  and 
thin,"  as  they  express  it.  Benedict  did  not  need, 
but  wanted  his  "  pushing,"  to  help  him  decide 
the  fate  of  his  book. 

'You  are  in  a  bad  way,  my  dear  fellow,  to 
bring  me  here  for  such  a  purpose.     I  've  never 

[371] 


known  you  to  be  undecided  before.  Why  don't 
you  stir  yourself  a  little,  and  bring  some  life  into 
this  house?  Here  you  are  living  like  a  recluse 
—  a  man  of  your  age!  You  have  a  child;  that 
child  ought  to  be  here ;  she  'd  liven  you  up  pretty 
quick,  I'll  wager." 

At  the  mention  of  the  child,  Benedict  nettled: 

"  How  can  I  have  her  here  with  me  alone? 
She's  grown  fond  of  Helene.  I  can't  take  her 
away,  just  yet,  without  causing  trouble." 

"  Why  don't  you  bring  Helene  here  with  her? " 
asked  the  Philosopher,  with  a  look  in  his  eye  that 
pretended  merriment,  but  was  truly  solicitous. 

Benedict  sighed.  '  That 's  another  question," 
he  said,  studying  the  falling  of  the  ashes  of  his 
cigar  into  the  delicately  worked  Parisian  tray. 
"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  he  finally  resumed. 

"  I  'm  relieved,  and  glad  to  hear  it,"  returned 
the  Philosopher,  with  firmness.  "  If  you  had  n't 
I  don't  know  but  what  I  might  have." 

"Hey?"  queried  Benedict,  with  a  searching 
look. 

'  Yes,"  replied  his  friend,  "  if  not  in  Helene's 
[372] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

case,  in  some  one's  else,"  he  went  on  encourag- 
ingly. "  It 's  absurd  for  men  of  mind,  like  you 
and  me,  to  be  fretting  away  their  lives  in  lonely 
celibacy !  A  home  is  the  thing  a  man  needs,  where 
he  can  relax  and  be  soothed  by  the  gentle  influence 
of  a  woman,  not  of  his  own  family."  In  his 
home,  somewhere  down  in  the  southern  part  of 
West  Virginia,  he  had  sisters,  maiden  aunts,  and 
cousins  numbering  thirteen  in  the  aggregate. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  in  your  case,"  smiled 
Benedict.  "  I  Ve  thought  lately  that  you  've  been 
looking  particularly  spruced  up  and  chirpy  since 
you  Ve  been  frequenting  the  Hadleys'.  Who  is 
it,— Sophie?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  it 's  Lucy,  since  she  's  the  only  one  left. 
That's  all  right,  my  dear  boy;  go  it  lively. 
You've  got  no  time  to  waste." 

"  That 's  the  advice  I  had  reserved  for  you," 
quibbed  his  friend.  They  were  the  best  of  chums, 
and  sat  till  late  discussing  all  sorts  of  domestic 
felicity  problems  which,  to  the  Philosopher, 
savored  of  the  freshness  of  novelty. 

[373] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

When  he  took  his  departure,  Benedict  sat  an 
hour  longer  in  his  study  making  resumes  of  their 
conversation. 

He  dropped  the  subject  of  his  book  and  said, 
"Why  not  take  his  advice?" 

Another  long  siege  of  self -contemplation.  Is 
he  still  Benedict,  the  one  blessed  with  all  the  gifts 
that  nature  can  bestow  on  one  of  its  creatures, 
and  to  be  cheated  at  last !  The  idea  looms  before 
him,  like  a  haunting  menace.  Despite  his  incon- 
solable state  he  thinks  he  will  turn  to  Helene  again. 
His  long  friendship,  her  devotion  to  his  child, 
her  care  and  thought  for  him,  have  failed  to  in- 
spire for  her  any  emotion  save  gratitude.  Yet 
he  is  willing  to  stake  his  happiness  on  so  stable 
and  sound  a  feeling. 

He  has  reached  a  stage  of  maturity  in  excess 
of  his  actual  years.  He  has  acquired  the  habit 
of  unvarying  seriousness.  His  smile  is  rare;  for 
he  is  considering  the  feasibility  of  a  marriage 
with  Helene.  Everything  seems  to  point  to  it 
as  the  best,  most  natural  thing  for  him  to  do. 
Of  course,  he  cannot  offer  her  a  place  in  his 

[874] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

heart  such  as  Matilda  held,  but  he  will  offer  her 
fidelity,  a  high  appreciation  of  her  many  superior 
qualities.  More  than  that,  he  would  raise  her  to 
a  position  of  affluence  and  wealth  far  more  suited 
to  her  mental  qualifications  than  the  life  of  pen- 
ury she  was  used  to,  resulting  from  the  daily 
complexities  arising  fiom  the  insufficiency  of 
her  exchequer.  He  judged,  therefore,  that 
Helene  would  be  highly  pleased  with  his  mature 
and  carefully  deliberated  proposal. 

In  this  complacent  frame  of  mind  he  walked 
one  blustering  morning  early  in  March  to  have 
his  interview  with  Helene.  She  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  him,  owing  to  his  custom  of  visit- 
ing them  at  that  hour,  and  received  him  with 
her  usual  smiling  serenity. 

There  was  a  slight  touch  of  embarrassment  in 
his  manner  as  he  seated  himself.  He  did  not 
quite  know  how  to  broach  the  subject  which  had 
been  discarded  by  them  seven  years  before. 

"I  have  come,  Helene,"  he  said,  at  length, 
"to  renew  the  proposition  I  made  to  you  some 
time  ago.  You  will  recall  that  when  you  refused 

[375] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

to  consider  it,  under  existing  circumstances,  I 
said,  little  dreaming  of  the  subsequent  happen- 
ings, that  I  did  not  mean  to  drop  it;  I  am  here 
now  for  that  purpose." 

Helene  had  trained  herself  to  speak  to  him 
without  emotion.  She  looked  at  him,  feeling  the 
utter  lack  of  it  in  him. 

"  Tell  me  your  proposition,  Benedict.  I  will 
hear  it  gladly  if  it  is  anything  by  which  I  can 
aid  you." 

"It  is,"  he  returned,  showing  slight  irritation 
at  the  placid  manner  in  which  she  received  his 
words.  He  had  said  once  to  the  Philosopher, 
during  the  past  five  years,  that  Helene  some- 
times was  "  aggravatingly  calm." 

"  Because  you  are  aggravatingly  delinquent," 
his  friend  had  retorted.  So  he  waited  a  moment 
before  he  resumed. 

"  You  have  already  helped  me  so  much  that  I 
am  bold  enough  to  ask  you  to  continue  your 
most  estimable  assistance  by  consenting  to  be- 
come my  wife.  You  have  taken  care  of  my 
child  for  nearly  five  years,  you  have  won  her 

[376] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

affection  and  confidence;  and  it  is  time  for  her 
to  come  to  me.  How  else  can  we  arrange  mat- 
ters, so  that  we  may  go  on  in  the  same  amicable, 
peaceful  way  —  restore  my  daughter's  life  to  a 
more  normal  condition;  insure  your  comfort  and 
well-being  for  life ;  and  afford  me  a  home,  where 
I  may  daily  relax  from  the  strain  of  mental  labor 
and  be  soothed  by  the  influence  you  have  always 
exerted  more  or  less  over  me." 

She  looked  at  him  as  he  sat  there,  so  coldly 
indifferent.  His  words  unnerved  her.  His  very 
attitude  kindled  the  spark  of  her  long-smothered 
resentment  and  indignation.  She  rose  to  address 
him. 

"You  come  to  me,  Benedict,  to  ask  me,  in 
plain  words,  to  take  charge  of  your  house,  to  con- 
tinue nurturing  your  child,  and  make  your  home 
a  dolce  far  niente  where  you  may  find  peace  and 
rest  to  your  mental  labors.  Forsooth,  how 
soon  we  tire  of  our  dumb  treasures,  and  cease 
to  find  in  them  the  joy  forever  which  ends  in 
joyless  satiety!  No  woman  is  willing  to  accept 
a  man  who  is  ready  to  give  what  you  offer  with 

[377] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

no  other  return  but  'high  appreciation.'  I  hold 
at  too  great  a  value  my  sense  of  self-respect  and 
justice  to  accede  to  your  proposition  under  such 
conditions." 

Her  gray  eyes  grew  darker  and  more  pene- 
trating, her  cheek  flushed  lightly,  her  hands  were 
cold,  and  the  conventional  smile  evaporated  into 
thin  air  by  the  ardor  of  her  words. 

'  You  offer  me  a  comfortable  position  in  your 
Home.  I  am  poor,  —  you  have  intimated  it,  — 
but  not  so  poor  as  to  forget  my  dignity  and  my 
rights." 

Benedict  stared  at  her  in  utter  amaze.  He  was 
more  stupefied  than  at  any  of  the  calamities  he 
had  been  through. 

'You  are  offended  because  I  do  not  offer 
you  love — the  love  I  still  cherish  for  Matilda? 
Then  you  are  jealous!  Jealous  of  her  memory," 
retorted  Benedict,  quick  to  feel  the  contagion  of 
her  displeasure.  "You  pretended  to  be  her 
friend!  Helene,  you  must  know  —  " 

She  stayed  him  with  her  extended  hand,  inter- 
rupting him. 

[378] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Let  me  speak,  I  will  soon  have  done.  There 
was  no  pretence;  I  loved  Matilda  and  you  knew 
it.  You  have  taken  advantage  of  that  love;  and 
have  no  cause  to  blame  me,  I  think,  for  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  have  honored  her  memory.  I 
have  watched  over  you  and  shared  your  sorrow, 
I  have  given  you  all  my  sympathy,  even  my  love, 
unsolicited  —  you  might  as  well  know  it,  now 
that  you  have  killed  it  —  and  have  tried  to  do  her 
wishes  in  every  particular,  to  make  atonement." 

"  Not  altogether,"  broke  in  Travis.  "  You 
must  have  known  the  ultimate  result  that  her 
wish  implied!  It  is  the  principal  reason  why  I 
am  here  to-day;  to  fulfil  her  wishes  to  the  very 
end.  She  may  have  guessed  your  feelings  to- 
ward me  and  charged  you  with  the  sacred  trust, 
her  child,  in  compensation  for  what  she  had 
robbed  you  of!  But  it  is  I  who  am  robbed,  since 
you  say  your  interest  in  me  now  is  dead." 

Helene  again  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  check 
his  cruel  words.  Her  face  and  lips  were  white, 
the  only  signs  that  betrayed  the  conflict  in  her 
heart. 

[379] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"  Let  me  speak,"  she  commanded.  "It  is  you 
who  have  provoked  it.  Don't  make  it  harder  for 
me  to  do  what  I  must.  Matilda  never  knew  my 
feelings  toward  you  till  that  last  day  I  spoke 
with  her.  I  have  sought  to  repair  my  fault  by 
my  devotion  to  her  child,  to  you;  but  now,  I 
know  what  you  are  capable  of.  You  cling  to  a 
fading  memory  —  a  ghost  of  the  past  —  and 
ignore  the  vital  obligation  of  the  present!" 

Helene's  words  stung  him  long  after  he  had 
left  her.  He  merely  said, 

"  If  you  have  finished  accusing  me  of  malice, 
selfishness,  and  all  uncharitableness,  I  will  wish 
you  good-morning." 

Helene  inclined  her  head  and  watched  him  till 
he  had  passed  out  of  the  door.  It  would  have 
been  difficult  for  her  to  control  herself  after  this 
scene,  if,  fresh  upon  his  footsteps,  little  Helen 
had  not  come  running  to  her  and  embraced  her 
fondly.  Helene  was  glad  of  this  opportunity 
to  reassume  her  all-covering  smile.  It  was  par- 
ticularly tender  now.  At  the  same  moment  Mrs. 
Doyle  entered. 

[380] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

"We  have  been  waiting  luncheon  for  you," 
said  she,  and  gave  her  a  scrutinizing  look. 
"  Come,  you  and  little  Helen,  without  further 
demonstration." 

They  entered  the  dining-room.  The  maid  had 
disappeared  for  Miss  Doyle's  lunch. 

"  Little  Helen,  run  up  and  fetch  Mrs.  Doyle's 
glasses,  which  were  left  on  the  reading-table  in 
my  room.  I  forgot  them  in  coming  down." 

The  child  rose  from  the  table  to  execute  the 
command.  During  her  absence,  the  mother 
hastily  inquired  of  Helene: 

"  What  was  all  that  excited  talk  about  between 
you  and  Benedict?  At  first,  it  looked  to  me  as 
if  he  had  come  to  renew  his  proposal." 

"  He  did;  and  he  was  angered  at  my  refusal." 

'  You    refused    him,    Helene !      How    dared 

you!" 

Mrs.  Doyle  was  quite  agitated  and  dropped 
her  fork. 

By  this  time  the  little  girl  and  the  waitress 
returned,  the  one  to  pick  up  the  fork  and  supply 
another,  and  the  little  girl  to  say  she  could  n't  find 

[381  ] 


Mrs.  Doyle's  glasses  anywhere,  —  when  sud- 
denly the  poor  bewildered  lady  found  them  in  her 
pocket. 

The  luncheon  progressed  in  silence  and  Sty- 
gian gloom,  occasionally  relieved  by  some  bright 
remark  of  little  Helen.  After  lunch,  she  and 
Auntie  went  to  sit  at  one  of  the  front  windows,  as 
was  their  custom ;  for  it  was  Friday  afternoon  and 
Helen  had  been  promised  a  promenade  in  the 
park  with  her  nurse  soon  after  the  noon-day  meal. 
They  were  renewing  their  vows  of  love  and 
fidelity. 

"I  will  always  love  you  better  than  any  one 
else  in  the  world,"  Helen  said.  Helene  had  been 
trying  to  prepare  her  for  the  separation. 

"  If  I  must  go  and  live  with  my  father  with- 
out you,  I  shall  never  learn  to  like  him.  When 
he  came  out  of  this  house  to-day,  I  met  him  at 
the  door.  He  did  not  look  at  me  at  all.  I  am 
glad.  He  looked  so  very  cross  and  sour!" 

Helene  buried  her  head  in  the  child's  curls  in 
another  embrace  to  hide  her  own  resentment. 

[382] 


She  bound  his  head  with  the   veil  she  tore  from  her  hat 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

Just  then  Benedict's  car  went  past  at  furious 
speed. 

" There  he  goes! "  cried  the  child.  " He 's  go- 
ing so  fast,  I  hope  the  policeman  will  catch  him 
and  lock  him  up  in  the  jail.  I  will  be  glad  I" 

Helene  did  not  hear  the  words.  Instinctively 
her  head  turned  to  the  window.  She  saw  him 
passing  them,  his  face  set  and  determined,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  left.  It  showed  the  same 
angry  look  it  had  worn  when  he  had  left  her 
nearly  two  hours  before.  His  indifference  to 
them  both  was  boundless. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  her.  She  gave  the 
child  into  the  nurse's  hands;  there  was  no  re- 
straining her.  She  flew  to  the  telephone;  by  a 
lucky  coincidence  she  called  for  the  garage. 

"Quick,  Capet;  I  want  the  speediest  machine 
you  have  in  your  garage." 

"  The  speediest  machine,  mademoiselle,  is  al- 
ready in  use.  M.  Traveesse  has  it." 

"I  know  —  I've  just  seen  him  pass;  the  next 
best,  then,  —  I  want  to  catch  up  with  him." 

[383] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

M.  Capet  obeyed  orders  promptly.  By  the 
time  Helene  had  snatched  her  hat  and  cloak, 
he  was  at  the  door.  She  mounted,  urging  him 
on.  There  was  no  time  for  explanations.  They 
must  follow  him.  All  she  said  was, 

"Ou  est  Halle?" 

'  Villo  Brook,  mademoiselle." 

"Fly!"  she  returned. 

They  both  knew  they  had  a  ''sweating  race" 
before  them  even  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  car. 
Capet  knew  the  road  well.  He  had  taken  Mon- 
sieur to  Willow  Brook  numerous  times.  At  last 
he  recognized  the  leading  machine  just  disap- 
pearing behind  a  hill  on  the  horizon.  He  re- 
doubled his  speed  till  they  came  to  the  top  of  that 
hill,  when,  looking  down,  they  beheld  a  ghastly 
sight.  The  car  having  run  too  close  to  the  edge 
of  the  steep  embankment,  had  lunged  down  the 
declivity  forty  or  fifty  feet. 

Helene  rushed  to  the  scene.  She  found  Bene- 
dict lying  many  feet  from  his  murderous  machine, 
his  head  gashed  and  bleeding.  She  raised  his 
head  upon  her  lap  and  bound  his  wound  with  the 

[384] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

veil  she  tore  from  her  hat,  then  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, and  his,  till  the  wrappings  refused  to 
stanch  the  blood  streaming  from  the  cut. 

In  the  meantime  Capet  had  rushed  back  for 
the  nearest  assistance.  When  he  returned, 
Helene  was  still  bending  over  Benedict.  He  had 
partially  regained  consciousness,  and  could  hear 
her  heart  throbs  close  to  his  ear.  His  eyes 
opened ;  he  saw  her  looking  down  at  him. 

"Helene,"  he  gasped,  "always  near  in  time 
of  need,"  and  relapsed  again  into  unconscious- 
ness. They  took  him  to  his  own  home;  he  was 
too  far  from  the  other.  Physicians  were  sum- 
moned, surgeons,  nurses,  all  the  paraphernalia 
necessary  to  an  accident  in  a  rich  man's  house. 
Helene  remained  to  know  the  result.  A  thorough 
examination  had  to  be  made.  He  was  seriously 
hurt;  but  the  wound  need  not  prove  fatal. 


[385] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HELENE  EXPERIENCES  A  REACTION 

"  Up  from  Earth's  Centre  through  the  Seventh  Gate 
I  rose,  and  on  the  Throne  of  Saturn  sate, 

And  many  a  Knot  unravel 'd  by  the  Road; 
But  not  the  Master-knot  of  Human  Fate" 

WHEN  Benedict  left  the  Doyle  resi- 
dence after  his  sudden  and  unexpected 
disappointment,  his  mind  teemed  with  accusa- 
tions against  her  who  had  planned  such  an  assault 
upon  him.  He  was  stunned  and  stupefied  by 
it.  Helene,  of  all  women,  who  had  posed  as  his 
friend  all  these  years,  and  then  at  the  crisis  when 
he  needed  her  most,  to  fail  him!  He  now  mis- 
interpreted all  she  had  said  to  him  and  magnified 
his  injury  in  his  own  eyes.  He  was  totally  blind 
to  the  errors  in  his  conduct  which  she  attacked, 
and  thought  himself  blameless  and  therefore 
deeply  injured.  The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the 

[386] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

more  he  felt  the  sense  of  its  injustice.  He  was 
fast  nearing  a  mood  bordering  on  desperation, 
when  he  finally  reached  his  home. 

He  sat  down  to  his  mid-day  meal  in  a  mood 
surpassing  that  of  his  friends  left  lunching  at 
the  same  hour.  He  took  but  little  food,  and 
comported  himself  generally  in  a  nervous,  irrit- 
able manner  utterly  unbecoming  his  lately 
acquired  dignity.  He  rang  for  M.  Capet,  his 
Paris  chauffeur. 

"Bring  the  French  car  around  at  half -past 
two;  I  '11  take  a  run  out  to  Willow  Brook." 

On  the  minute  Capet  was  at  the  porte-cochere, 
and  stepped  down  lightly  to  open  the  door  for 
Benedict. 

"  Clear  out  of  that  steering  seat;  I  '11  take  that 
myself,"  Benedict  said,  feeling  that  he  would 
welcome  the  lashing  wind  and  freezing  rain  he 
would  have  to  encounter.  Capet  looked  sur- 
prised and  disappointed. 

"Shall  I  not  conduct  Monsieur?"  he  asked, 
incredulously. 

"No,  Capet;  I  go  alone." 
[387] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

He  leaped  to  the  front  seat,  grasped  the  steer- 
ing gear  and  set  his  face  to  the  wind,  desperate, 
daring,  and  defiant. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  he  passed  Helene  and 
the  little  girl  at  the  window.  He  seemed  con- 
scious of  them  as  he  went  by  for  he  made  an 
effort  to  accelerate  his  speed  and  his  look  of 
defiance  was  intensified. 

He  soon  reached  the  open  fields  beyond  the 
smoky  city  and  immediately  felt  better.  As  if 
in  response  to  his  ameliorated  mood,  the  storm 
ceased  and  a  lurid  sun  broke  through  the  heavy 
clouds.  He  checked  his  pace  to  take  in  the  win- 
try scene,  but  hearing  another  car  behind  him 
he  looked  back.  It  was  then  that  he  made 
his  disastrous  run. 

When  that  memorable  day  was  finally  past 
and  Helene  reached  her  home  late  at  night, 
through  the  courtesy  of  this  same  Monsieur 
Capet,  it  was  a  great  relief  to  find  the  house- 
hold sound  asleep,  uninformed  yet,  she  hoped, 
of  what  had  happened.  She  went  straight  to 
her  room,  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  be  alone. 

[388] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

A  crisis,  a  sudden  appeal  to  one's  affections,  acts 
as  a  powerful  stimulant  to  one's  activities. 
Nothing  but  her  quick,  correct  decision  had 
saved  the  accident  from  fatality. 

Once  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room  her  feel- 
ings of  the  morning  experienced  a  complete  re- 
vulsion. 

What  had  she  done!  She  had  taunted  him, 
and  reproached  him  for  disregarding  the  love  he 
had  never  known,  bringing  the  first  angry 
flame  to  his  eyes,  while  she  had  been  the  only 
one  in  the  wrong.  She  had  censured  him  for  the 
true,  loyal  nature  that  made  him  cling  to  the 
memory  of  his  first  love!  She  had  wrung  from 
him  the  cruel  words,  "  Then  you  are  jealous  of 
the  love  I  still  cherish  for  Matilda!  "  Oh,  how 
would  he  judge  her  now!  —  now  that  he  was 
prostrated  and  suffering  through  her  selfish 
justification  and  pride. 

The  anguish  of  her  remorse,  she  felt,  her 
burning  tears  would  never  wash  away.  For  by 
her  own  act,  she  had  brought  separation  from 
the  child  and  from  him.  Her  mad  race  to  rescue 

[389  ] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

him  did  not  count  at  all.  In  his  wounded  and 
bewildered  state,  he  had  spoken  to  her  kindly. 
When  he  should  recover,  he  would  remember  the 
scene  and  despise  her.  Shocked  by  the  sight  of 
him  lying  there  helpless  and  hurt,  all  her  resent- 
ment had  taken  wings.  She  remembered  only 
the  happy-hearted  youth  who  had  filled  her 
sombre  girlhood  with  the  only  brightness  she  had 
ever  known. 

Far  into  the  night  she  thought  and  prayed, 
while  the  recording  angel  above  shed  tears  of 
pity  for  them  both. 

Benedict's  physical  injury  was  not  a  serious 
one.  He  suffered  more  from  the  long  period 
of  mental  gloom,  coupled  with  the  continuous 
strain  of  hard  mental  labor.  The  blow  had  been 
deep  enough  to  touch  some  sensitive  nerve  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  cerebellum,  and  a  peculiar  dis- 
turbance was  created  throughout  his  whole 
nervous  system. 

The  wound  itself  gradually  healed,  but  the 
mind  did  not ;  for  he  was  succumbing  to  a  general 
relaxation  of  the  nervous  tissues,  commonly 

[390] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

known  as  nervous  prostration.  The  accident  had 
hastened,  but  not  brought  on  the  condition. 

Every  day  Helene  made  inquiries  regarding 
him.  In  the  course  of  two  months  his  general 
health  functions  were  sound;  but  the  ravages 
done  to  the  mind  could  not  be  restored  in  so 
short  a  time.  The  moment  he  left  his  bed,  he 
began  to  evince  symptoms  of  mental  derange- 
ment. He  sat  for  hours  in  one  place,  showing 
no  desire  to  take  his  share  in  the  joy-giving 
activities  that  make  life  worth  while.  He  shrank 
from  human  society  other  than  his  father  and 
mother,  and  his  brilliant  flow  of  words  was  com- 
pletely hushed.  Such  a  perverted  state  of  the 
human  mind  as  led  men,  in  the  olden  days,  to 
monastic  seclusion,  as  being  the  only  solace  to 
their  injured  feelings;  a  sudden  distaste  for  all 
things  human  and  natural,  such  as  drove  the 
monks  into  caves  and  deserted  localities  with  the 
warped  and  fanciful  notion  that  they  were  bene- 
fiting the  world  by  exiling  themselves  from  it, 
settled  upon  him. 

To  be  thus  struck  down  in  the  flush  of  ardent 
[391] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

manhood;  to  have  his  sunny  nature  shrouded  in 
this  veil  of  mental  darkness,  seemed  to  Helene 
Doyle  a  tragedy.  In  May,  his  physicians  advised 
him  to  be  transported  to  Willow  Brook.  There 
the  sight  of  budding  nature,  of  sweet  familiar  ob- 
jects, the  open  sweep  of  pure  countiy  air,  would 
accomplish  his  final  recovery.  This  was  the  ver- 
dict given  by  Dr.  Wintchell,  the  famous  nerve 
specialist  of  New  York  and  Baltimore,  two  cities 
between  which  he  divided  his  time.  The  other 
doctors  shook  their  heads  and  doubted.  Benedict 
himself  chose  to  agree  with  them.  But  the  great 
apostle  of  the  present-day  science  and  humanity 
had  made  the  statement  and  himself  firmly  be- 
lieved in  it. 

Benedict  obeyed  and  went  to  the  home  of  his 
parents.  He  was  in  that  state  of  mental  weak- 
ness that  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  resist. 
He  accepted  the  fact  surlily,  but  uncomplain- 
ingly, as  he  would  have  the  calamity  of  losing  his 
physical  sight,  or  hearing,  admitting  no  possi- 
bility of  rehabilitation,  and  submitted  to  it  obedi- 
ently with  the  coldness  of  enforced  philosophy. 

[392] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

He  bore  his  burden  silently  but  manfully,  hard 
as  it  was  to  live  under  it. 

Benedict  lived  in  this  condition  of  self -incar- 
ceration for  three  months.  He  took  pleasure  in 
nothing,  and  had  to  be  urged  by  those  who  had 
right  to  command  him  to  enjoy  the  simple 
pleasures  and  benefits  of  life  in  a  beautiful 
country  home. 

Poor  Helene  had  all  she  could  do  to  retain  her 
habitual  placidity  after  the  accident.  She  felt 
sure  of  his  safety  now,  and  hoped  for  his  ulti- 
mate recovery;  but  that  time  for  her  was 
fraught  with  the  anguish  of  recollection.  No 
one  knew  what  words  had  passed  between 
them  during  that  wretched  interview ;  and  Helene 
held  her  peace.  She  lived  in  continual  dread 
of  the  time  when  he  should  be  reinstated  to  sound 
mind  and  judgment  by  the  perfect  readjust- 
ment of  his  physical  nature,  through  the  wisdom 
and  science  of  the  great  physician  who  had 
predicted  his  complete  recovery. 

How  would  Benedict  regard  her  when  that 
time  came?  She  had  sought  to  tear  down  his 

[393] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

idol  of  five  years,  the  spoken  testimony  of  his 
loyal,  steadfast  fidelity  to  his  first  love.  He 
would  never  forgive  her.  And  she  must  go 
on  living  and  loving,  without  hope,  passing  her 
days  in  the  remembrance  only  of  his  earlier  sin- 
cerity; like  one  who  is  resigned  but  who  has  lost 
a  fair  illusion. 

The  only  compensation  left  her  now  was  that 
of  retaining  the  child  for  an  indefinite  period 
longer.  She  found  comfort  in  their  mutual  love 
and  sorrow  for  him  in  his  present  condition. 
Helene  had  explained  to  her  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her  father,  and  how  very  ill  he  had  been 
and  still  was.  Her  own  genuine  grief  in  relating 
the  circumstance  had  the  effect  of  changing,  with 
the  lightning  swiftness  of  youthful  minds,  the 
little  girl's  former  attitude  towards  her  father  to 
one  of  genuine  sorrow  and  solicitude.  She  spoke 
of  him  frequently,  and  longed  to  go  and  pet  him 
as  soon  as  he  was  well  enough. 

Thus  the  days  dragged  wearily  enough  for 
him  and  those  whose  affection  he  had  always 
retained.  His  old  friends  were  all  anxious 

[394] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

about  him  and  plied  Helene  with  questions  con- 
cerning him.  She  always  affirmed  that  he  was 
better  and  improving  every  day,  and  he  was, 
though  the  change  was  well  nigh  imperceptible. 
She  wished  them  all  to  hold  for  him  that  posi- 
tive thought  of  certainty.  Her  own  thought 
was  so  charged  with  the  vitalizing  power  of  love 
that  it  was  fruitful  and  effective;  it  became  the 
hidden,  silent  current,  adding  its  force  to  his 
recovery,  all  the  more  potent  because  of  its 
subtlety. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  Philosopher, 
knowing  of  the  long  waiting,  took  matters  into 
his  own  hand  and  went  to  New  York  to  interview 
his  own  publishers. 

"  I  've  brought  you  this  book;  it 's  been  lying  in 
wait  far  too  long.  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said, 
when  he  showed  them  the  bulk  of  it,  "it's  not 
mine,"  he  added  laughing.  "It 's  young  Travis's 
great  book.  I  thought  you  'd  be  glad  to  take  a 
look  at  it." 

"We  are,  indeed,  Mr.  Donnithorn,  we  shall 
be  very  happy  to  give  it  our  prompt  attention 

[395] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

and  let  you  know  our  decision  in  a  very  few 
days." 

The  Philosopher  gave  them  a  sly  wink,  adding, 
'You  may  call  yourself  lucky  to  have  had  the 
first  chance  at  it!"  as  he  departed.  The  third 
day  after  his  visit  to  them  he  received  a  note 
saying  they  would  be  pleased  to  see  him  in  regard 
to  Mr.  Benedict  Travis's  book.  They  knew 
Mr.  Donnithorn  as  Benedict's  best  friend,  and 
were  ready  to  arrange  with  him  immediately  and 
draw  up  a  contract.  The  Philosopher  answered 
by  telephone. 

"Look  here;  to  the  deuce  with  your  contract, 
don't  bother  about  it.  Go  ahead  and  put  out 
the  book ;  he  '11  not  kick  about  your  terms,  I  '11 
answer  for  that.  My  conscience,  he  didn't  do 
it  to  add  to  his  millions !  Rush  it  out,  I  say ;  and 
surprise  him  with  it  when  he  wakes  up  from  his 
lethargy." 

So  that  matter  was  settled  and  the  Philosopher 
gave  it  no  more  thought. 

Then  came  the  usual  exodus  of  summer 
resorters.  The  Atwoods,  with  Mrs.  Doyle  under 

[396] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

their  wing,  took  their  flight  to  the  Thousand 
Islands  early  in  May.  Others  followed  their 
example,  and  very  soon  the  social  element  of  the 
city  which  remained  was  more  relieved  than 
sorry  by  their  absence.  Sophie  Hadley  was  the 
one  who  struck  the  first  note  of  rejoicing. 

"Isn't  it  splendid  to  have  Mrs.  Doyle  out  of 
the  way  for  six  months!  It  will  give  Helene  a 
good  rest,  at  least,"  she  remarked  to  Edith,  who 
had  dropped  in  for  a  call,  on  her  way  to  town. 
Sophie  was  pottering  around  at  half  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent things;  Lucy  was  sitting  in  the  reading 
section  of  the  "  front  room,"  serenely  embroider- 
ing "  L.  H. "  upon  some  new  fine  damask  table 
napkins. 

"It's  a  great  pity  they  didn't  take  Helene 
along  also,  after  the  shock  she 's  had  this  year," 
Edith  remarked. 

"  Helene  would  never  have  gone,"  interposed 
Lucy.  "Besides,  she  is  too  much  interested  in 
Benedict's  recovery  to  have  put  such  a  distance 
between  them." 

"Well,  Edith!"  said  Sophie,  ignoring  Lucy's 
[397] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

remark.  '  You  remind  me  of  a  woman  I  used  to 
know,  by  that  speech  of  yours." 

"What  woman?"  asked  Mrs.  Rasburn,  know- 
ing some  entertainment  was  coming. 

"Well,  she  just  couldn't  look  a  real  benefit 
in  the  face  without  giving  it  a  slap  sideways. 
She  got  a  huge  box  of  extra  fine  oranges  from 
a  dear  friend  in  Florida.  When  she  opened  it, 
she  exclaimed :  '  Oh,  is  n't  it  a  pity  there  are  n't 
a  few  grape-fruit  in  it!'  Nothing  for  that 
woman  was  ever  so  good  that  there  wasn't 
something  'too  bad'  about  it." 

"I  hope  that  won't  be  the  case  with  you, 
Sophie  dear.  By  the  way,  how  is  your  friend, 
the  widower?" 

"  I  have  n't  heard  or  seen  anything  of  him  for 
six  weeks.  We're  having  what  you  used  to  call 
f  reldche '  at  the  French  theatres,  when  there 
was  c  nothing  doing '  in  them." 

Edith  laughed,  and  Lucy,  whose  maidenly 
hopes  were  nearing  consummation,  piped  up 
again. 

"  Sophie,  if  you  would  devote  yourself  to 
[398] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

writing  that  long-talked-of  novel,  as  assiduously 
as  you  do  to  those  long  letters  you  write  to  your 
friend,  I  'm  sure  you  'd  made  a  grand  success  of 
it !  Then,  perhaps,  you  'd  be  content  with  your 
old  friend  'Eterno'  and  let  the  other  one  go; 
since  you  say  you  are  only  encouraging  him 
through  fear  of  being  left  alone.  You  could 
come  and  live  with  us.  You  would  never  need  to 
be  alone  except  when  you  chose  to  be,"  suggested 
Lucy,  who  was  always  trying  to  arrange  matters 
for  those  who  couldn't  look  to  them  themselves. 

Sophie  had  now  reached  that  most  attractive 
age  of  woman  when  she  assumes  all  things  with 
a  quiet  acceptance  that  is  positively  soothing. 
She  was  not  much  older  in  heart  or  actions,  but 
she  had  attained  the  inevitable  contour  of  avoir- 
dupois which  classed  her  among  the  "  fair,  fat, 
and  forty."  She  always  declared  she  would 
never  be  an  "  old  maid  "  in  the  common  accepta- 
tion of  the  term. 

"I  have  no  wrinkles,  except  those  around  my 
eyes  from  laughing.  A  woman  of  forty  odd 
years  —  odd  is  good,  it 's  nice  and  stretchy  — 

[399] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

is  ready  for  any  career.  She  is  at  the  height  of 
her  mental,  physical,  and  moral  perfection.  She 's 
more  'settled,'  as  Lottie  calls  it.  She's  not  on 
the  everlasting  hunt  for  the  not  impossible  'he.' 
I  gave  up  all  hopes  of  matrimony  long  ago.  All 
I  want  for  a  husband  is  my  indelibly  blue  pencil. 
He  is  sometimes  called  'Eterno.'  That's  the 
very  best  qualification  for  a  husband;  no  danger 
of  a  divorce!  The  more  you  use  him,  the  better 
he  serves  you." 

Sophie's  original  philosophy  was  one  of  her 
most  attractive  traits.  She  won  everybody  by 
it  and  her  generous  heart.  And  who  shall  say 
that  when  her  forty  years  were  odd  enough,  she 
did  not  succumb  to  the  wiles  and  fascinations  of 
a  comfortable  widower  who  needed  the  compan- 
ionship of  just  such  a  wife,  and  who  recognized 
in  her  the  very  thing  he  was  looking  for  —  a 
woman  with  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  good 
nature;  practical  and  sensible,  coupled  with  a 
droll  interpretation  of  every  phase  of  life ;  withal 
surprisingly  entertaining? 

[400] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HELENE  DOYLE  EXPECTS  THE  WORSE,,  AND  MEETS 
THE  BEST 

"Ah  Love!    could  thou  and  I  with  Him  conspire 
To  grasp  this  sorry  Scheme  of  Things  entire, 
Would  not  we  shatter  it  to  bits  —  and  then, 
Re-mould  it  nearer  to  the  Heart's  Desire!" 

SUMMER  advanced  and  the  imperceptible 
change  in  Benedict  deepened,  hour  by  hour, 
day  by  day.  He  was  truly  convalescing  and  his 
recuperating  condition  manifested  itself  in  un- 
mistakable symptoms.  His  recovery  now  became 
a  fact;  but  as  simple  as  when  two  magnetic 
needles  drop  to  opposite  poles.  His  love  of  life 
returned.  He  viewed  with  gentle  pleasure  the 
serious  business  of  mature  birds  with  their 
families;  the  harvesting  of  golden  wheat,  and 
the  look  of  satisfaction  on  the  bright  young  faces 
of  some  of  the  reapers.  Life,  indeed,  was  worth 

[401] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

the  tussle  he  and  that  good  man,  Dr.  Wintchell, 
had  made  for  it. 

One  day  in  July  the  doctor  came  to  see  him 
and  found  him  much  improved.  He  said : 

"Do  not  take  up  mental  labor  just  yet;  go, 
rather,  into  your  fields  and  make  hay;  pile  it  up 
into  fantastic  stacks.  I  have  seen  some  that  look 
like  Chinese  pagodas.  Earn  your  daily  bread 
by  the  sweat  of  your  brow;  become  the  primeval 
man  for  one  year.  It  will  refresh  and  strengthen 
you,  build  up  your  renewed  nerve  force,  and  add 
ten  years  to  your  life.  Then  you  will  be  ready 
for  anything,  a  Superior  Court  judgeship,  a 
presidential  campaign  —  anything  that  requires 
tough  endurance." 

Benedict  did  not  take  the  whole  of  his  physi- 
cian's advice;  but  he  liked  it  and  profited  by  it. 
He  was  never  intended  for  anything  but  a 
"gentleman  farmer."  His  mind  was  too  keen, 
too  deeply  concerned  with  the  solving  of 
life's  great  problems.  Therefore,  disregarding 
Dr.  Wintchell's  advice,  he  began  to  think;  but 
his  were  not  now  the  tense  thoughts  of  strenuous 

[402] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

mental  labor;  they  were  thoughts  that  came  to 
him  spontaneously;  tender  thoughts  that  sent 
thrills  of  pleasurable  emotions  through  his  entire 
system.  He  realized  that  budding  joy  is  a  vital- 
izer;  that  the  love  he  felt  in  his  heart  for  all 
things  was  worth  more  than  all  the  tonics  of  the 
old  century's  quacks. 

These  natural,  inherent  sentiments  paved  the 
way  for  others  that  were  still  higher  and  more 
vital.  He  thought  of  his  child! 

One  morning  some  days  previous  to  the  doctor's 
visit,  a  letter  had  come  to  him.  It  was  from  little 
Helen.  It  spoke  of  her  tender  solicitude  for  his 
health,  and  of  her  wish  to  come  soon  to  play  with 
him,  and  pet  him.  At  the  foot  of  the  page,  below 
her  signature,  Helen  Dolliver  Travis,  was  this 
important  postscript: 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  said  I  hoped  the  policeman 
would  lock  you  up  in  the  jail.  I  told  Aunt 
Helene  I  was.  But  she  said  it  was  not  enough, 
and  that  I  must  say  it  to  you ;  so  here  it  is." 

When  Benedict  read  it,  he  broke  into  a  shout  of 
laughter  in  spite  of  the  moisture  brought  to  his 

[403] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

eyes  by  the  first  part  of  the  letter.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  laughed  in  three  months,  and  his 
mother  came  out  to  learn  the  cause  of  it.  He 
handed  her  the  letter  and  said : 

'  You  had  better  ask  Helene  to  bring  her  out 
for  the  Summer.  I  would  like  to  get  acquainted 
with  the  child.  A  few  months  of  this  life  would 
do  them  both  good." 

Mrs.  Travis  hailed  this  new  and  promising 
symptom,  and  forthwith  sat  down  to  write  Helene 
Doyle  an  urgent  letter  to  come  and  bring  the  little 
girl  for  the  remaining  time.  She  ended  her  letter 
by  saying  that  in  the  Fall,  if  Benedict  was  well 
enough,  the  three  could  go  back  to  the  city,  much 
benefited  by  the  outing. 

Helene  read  the  letter  over  and  over  several 
times.  She  was  alone  now,  and  could  take  time 
to  nurse  her  much-wounded  sentiment  whenever 
she  chose.  She  pondered  over  it  all  one  after- 
noon, even  while  performing  her  other  duties, 
and  in  the  evening  when  she  and  little  Helen  sat 
down  to  dinner,  she  said,  smilingly : 

"  How  would  you  like  it,  dear,  to  go  to  Grand- 
[404] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

mamma's  to-morrow,  and  stay  the  rest  of  the 
Summer? " 

"Oh!"  cried  the  child,  in  a  burst  of  gleeful 
hand -clapping,  "  and  you  go  too,  Aunt  Helene?" 

'  Yes ;  after  a  time.  I  could  not  go  for  so  long. 
There  is  too  much  to  do  at  home ;  besides,  Grand- 
mamma would  tire  of  such  prolonged  visitors.  It 
is  quite  right  for  you  to  go.  Willow  Brook  is 
your  other  home.  Perhaps,  towards  the  end  of 
the  Summer,  I  may  go  for  a  week." 

"  That  will  be  nice,"  said  little  Helen.  "  Then 
you  will  come  to  bring  me  back  to  this  home." 

The  child  had  formed  the  habit  of  accepting 
whatever  Aunt  Helene  said  as  the  most  proper 
and  safest  course  for  any  one's  conduct.  So  it 
happened  that  the  next  day  little  Helen  went  to 
Willow  Brook  with  her  nurse  in  the  repaired 
French  car,  once  more  restored  to  M.  Capet's 
directorship. 

When  the  little  girl  left,  Helene  felt  that  this 
was  truly  the  end  of  all  things  for  her.  She  went 
straight  to  her  room  to  have  it  out  with  herself, 
and  force  herself  to  accept  with  equanimity  the 

[405] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

conditions  which  she,  by  her  own  act,  had  incur- 
red. For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  neglected 
some  of  her  daily  duties.  She  did  not  scan  the 
Baltimore  Sun,  which  contained  two  items  of 
peculiar  interest  to  herself.  One  was  the  an- 
nouncement of  Benedict's  book,  which  would 
appear  during  the  latter  part  of  August.  The 
other  was  a  statement  concerning  Mr.  Atwood  — 
in  regard  to  the  loss  of  more  than  two-thirds  of 
his  fortune. 

This  last  piece  of  intelligence,  when  it  came  to 
her,  turned  the  tide  of  her  own  emotions  to  the  im- 
mediate consequences  of  the  catastrophe. 

She  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day  writing  to 
her  mother,  also  to  Angela.  Her  mind,  a  furnace 
of  activity,  tried  to  decide  the  probable  sub- 
sequent movements  of  the  family.  Her  chief 
concern  was:  Would  their  return  interfere  with 
her  plan  for  spending  a  week  at  Willow  Brook 
at  the  end  of  August?  The  Atwood  ladies 
decided  to  remain,  —  as  she  learned  the  same 
week,  —  until  nearly  the  end  of  October.  It 
would  take  them  at  least  till  then  to  readjust 

[406] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

themselves  and  their  lives  to  the  humiliating  pro- 
cedure of  returning  to  Baltimore  in  an  impover- 
ished condition. 

Helene  breathed  more  freely  when  she  received 
the  letter  from  her  mother.  She  did  not  wish  to 
disappoint  Mrs.  Travis.  She  wished  to  grant 
them  a  week  simply  to  fulfil  a  duty  and  her 
promise  to  little  Helen.  The  thought  of  going 
even  then  filled  her  with  more  dread  than  hopeful- 
ness. She  was  now  convinced  in  her  own  mind 
that  the  week  spent  there  would  close  the  one 
chapter  of  her  life  that  might  have  held  some  joy 
for  her  if  she  had  not  nipped  it  in  the  bud  by  her 
own  arrogant  self -righteousness  and  pride. 

As  she  was  sitting  in  the  library,  to  have  a  quiet 
moment  to  herself,  Lucy  Hadley  walked  in. 
She  had  come  for  a  confidential  talk  about  her 
forthcoming  marriage  with  Mr.  Donnithorn. 
Dear  little  Lucy !  Helene  was  always  willing  and 
ready  to  talk  with  her  upon  any  subject,  and  this 
one  was  uppermost  in  Lucy's  tender  heart. 

"And  yours  will  be  next,"  she  added  with  a 
knowing  smile.  Helene's  smile  froze  to  the 

[407] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

nipping  intensity  of  the  freezing-point,  as  she 
replied,  with  a  faint  sigh: 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  have  not  the  faintest  con- 
ception of  how  wide  of  the  mark  your  words  are." 

Lucy  looked  surprised  and  shocked,  but  did 
not  venture  to  ask  for  an  explanation. 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation,  Helene 
spoke  of  her  mother's  letter  telling  of  the  Atwood 
ladies'  decision  not  to  return  to  Baltimore  until 
late  in  the  Fall.  Lucy,  who  had  also  read  of  the 
affair  in  the  newspaper  that  day,  was  glad  to  hear 
it;  she  felt  truly  sorry  for  them. 

Helene  was  so  disturbed  that  she  could  not 
sleep  after  she  went  to  bed;  not,  at  least,  till  the 
bitterness  of  her  grief  had  been  washed  away  by 
the  burning  tears  that  fell  from  her  eyes. 

The  "decline  and  faU  off"  of  the  Atwood 
tyranny,  as  Sophie  expressed  it,  was  spread 
throughout  the  State  of  Maryland,  where  Mr. 
Atwood  was  well  known.  Almost  every  one 
thought  kindly  of  him,  for  he  had  been  the  victim 
of  some  villain's  treachery. 

Another  month  went  by,  and  Benedict's  book 
[408] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  in  the  market.  Helene  watched  for  every  bit 
of  comment  on  it  and  garnered  them  all  faith- 
fully in  the  rich  portfolio  of  her  retentive  mind. 

At  the  same  time,  the  Travis  household  was 
mightily  stirred  up  by  the  event.  Father  Travis, 
reading  of  it  in  his  morning  paper,  stormed  up  to 
his  son,  who  looked  brightened  and  pleased  by 
the  news  his  father  brought. 

That  same  afternoon  the  Philosopher  came 
bringing  the  first  volume,  bound  in  familiar  legal 
calf. 

Altogether  the  day  was  fraught  with  promise 
and  hope  of  better  things.  Before  retiring  that 
night,  Benedict  kissed  and  fondled  little  Helen 
in  a  way  that  completely  won  her  heart. 

As  he  lay  thinking,  the  scene  of  his  rescue 
flashed  vividly  upon  his  mind.  There  he  was  in 
the  face  of  death,  sudden,  terrifying,  appalling, 
—  death  for  which  he  had  once  longed.  He  did 
not  know  how  dearly  he  loved  life  until  now.  He 
recognized  the  new-born  feeling  in  his  heart  as 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  love  itself;  love  for 
those  who  had  rescued  him  to  life;  love  for  his 

[409] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

child  whom  he  was  now  privileged  to  keep;  love 
for  the  woman  who  had  not  only  been  the  first  one 
to  check  the  flow  of  his  ebbing  life,  but  who  had 
instilled  into  his  daughter  all  the  fundamental 
qualities  of  her  own  mind, —  gentleness,  the 
purity  of  truth,  and  loving  fealty  to  himself.  He 
felt  that  within  the  last  two  months  he  had  liter- 
ally been  falling  in  love  with  his  child,  and  that 
he  was  not  ashamed  of  its  outward  manifestation. 
He  acknowledged  only  to  himself,  however,  that 
the  feeling  in  his  heart  rose  to  the  sublime  height 
of  human  joy  when  he  thought  of  Helene. 

The  change  that  had  come  over  his  life,  as  he 
felt  its  complete  renewal,  found  him  void  of  the 
poignant  emotions  that  had  held  him  in  bondage 
so  long.  They  faded  from  his  memory  like  the 
scales  of  a  loathsome  disease.  And  it  was  under 
that  compelling  impulse  that  he  had  asked  his 
mother  to  invite  Helene. 

He  spent  much  time  in  quiet  but  smiling 
cogitation.  His  mind  reverted  to  his  college  days 
when  he  had  steeped  himself  in  the  great  poets, 
Dante,  Catullus,  Shakespeare,  Milton.  One  day 

[410] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

after  reading  "  Paradise  Lost,"  and  the  canto  on 
Man's  First  Disobedience,  he  had  himself  blos- 
somed into  verse.  It  came  to  his  mind  at  this  time 
with  all  the  freshness  of  its  first  spontaneity. 
But  he  thought  also  how  applicable  to  my  own 
case  now! 

THE  RE-AWAKENING 

High  on  the  throne  of  my  exalted  mind, 

I  look  above  where  mountains  kiss  the  sky, 

I  dream  of  an  eternal  day; 

The  conflict  o'er,  the  battle  done, 

Of  sorrow  vanquished,  victories  won! 

The  past  enshrouded  in  the  mist, 

Sinks  far  below  my  rising  sun ; 

The  morning  breaks,  my  spirit  wakes, 

Lo,  I  behold  the  King's  pathway! 

"  Not  such  tremendous  poetry,  but  the  idea  is 
all  right,"  he  said,  and  settled  himself  to  await 
patiently  —  for  he  had  learned  the  lesson  of 
patience  —  until  the  time  of  Helene's  coming. 

Things  have  such  a  way  of  working  themselves 
around  for  the  best,  at  times,  in  this  world.  It 
seemed  as  if  everything  had  veered  auspiciously 
to  bring  about  Helene's  visit.  Mrs.  Travis,  her- 
self growing  impatient,  called  up  Helene  on  the 

[411] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

telephone.  "  Do  come  now,  the  month  is  waning 
rapidly,  and  we  are  having  such  gorgeous  full 
moonlight  nights.  Little  Helen  is  longing  for 
a  sight  of  her  Aunt  Helene,  and  we  all  want 
you!" 

Helene  promised  to  start  the  next  morning 
under  the  guardianship  of  Monsieur  Capet. 

The  little  girl  clapped  her  hands  with  glee. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  wait  till  morning,"  she  said  at 
the  supper  table  when  she  heard  of  it. 

"You  must,  my  daughter,"  said  Benedict. 
"  You  are  not  the  only  one  who  has  been  waiting." 

She  was  so  in  the  habit  of  obeying  that  she  re- 
signed herself  at  once. 

"Father,  is  Aunt  Helene  any  relation  to  us?" 

"  None  whatever." 

The  child  thought  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  she  is  n't.  She  acts  and 
talks  to  me  like  one! " 

"  There  's  no  telling  how  soon  she  may  be,"  put 
in  the  Major,  with  a  twinkling  eye. 

"Now,  Father  Travis,"  wrarned  his  wife, 
"  don't  try  tc  force  anything.  Let  love  affairs  as 

[412] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

well  as  everything  else  take  their  own  natural 
course." 

The  next  morning  they  were  all  up  bright  and 
early  to  receive  and  to  welcome  the  visitor.  It 
was  Benedict  himself  who  went  alone  to  meet  her 
at  the  gate.  They  walked  side  by  side  through 
the  long  orchard  back  to  the  house.  Every  one 
hailed  her  coming,  even  the  servants. 

Helene  was  more  and  more  mystified  by  the 
great  change  that  had  come  over  Benedict.  He 
seemed  not  to  have  the  least  recollection  of  that 
scene  between  them  which  had  been  ever  present 
in  her  mind.  The  time  for  her  departure  was 
nearing;  and  it  became  harder  and  harder  for  her 
to  take  the  first  step  in  the  act  of  a  separation 
which  she  herself  had  brought  about. 

As  the  days  succeeded  one  another,  she  grew 
more  pensive,  and  lost  some  of  the  brightness 
which  Benedict's  nearness  had  brought  to  her 
own  countenance.  He,  too,  was  thoughtful  and 
silent  at  times.  Each  heart  had  revealed 
itself  to  the  other  with  all  its  history  of  past  ex- 
perience. Benedict,  until  his  trouble  came,  had 

[413] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

been  as  free  and  open  as  the  day,  while  Helene, 
being  a  fine,  sensitive  woman,  had  hidden  her 
secret  deeply  from  all  eyes  but  his. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  August.  A  new  moon 
hung  overhead  like  an  opal  jewel  on  the  bluish 
tint  of  on-coming  night,  faintly  studded  with 
stars.  They  were  sitting  on  one  of  the  broad 
verandas,  viewing  the  scene.  After  a  while,  as 
the  silence  grew  a  little  oppressive,  Helene  said : 

'  You  are  looking  and  seeming  so  very  much 
better,  now,  Benedict,  I  see  no  reason  for  pro- 
longing my  stay  as  a  '  sunshine '  emissary.  I 
hope  that  in  a  few  weeks,  when  you  return  to 
Baltimore,  you  will  sometimes  renew  your  visits 
to  us." 

She  was  startled  to  see  how  pale  he  turned. 
He  was  not  so  strong,  perhaps,  as  she  had 
fancied. 

Benedict  was  now  passing  through  that  vital 
parabola  which  inevitably  occurs  to  a  man  at 
some  curve  of  his  life,  and  which  betrays  itself  in 
the  tell-tale  change  of  features,  the  pallid  cheek 
or  lip,  the  luminous  intensity  of  the  eye.  There 

[414] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

was  another  moment  of  silence,  and  then  he  said, 
with  more  force  than  she  had  expected : 

"  No,  Helene,  you  shall  not  go  from  me,  from 
us !  You  must  remain  with  me,  now.  It  is  to  you 
I  owe  my  life;  with  you,  I  live  and  die!  I  have 
offended  you,  and  behaved  like  a  brute.  I  have 
taken  your  friendship  and  your  interest  all  these 
years  for  granted.  I  have  drawn  constantly  upon 
the  never- failing  fount  of  your  glorious  woman- 
hood, sapping  the  best  of  your  life.  You  bore 
with  me  in  patience ;  you  comforted  me  in  sorrow ; 
you  have  wrested  me  from  the  jaws  of  death  it- 
self; and  you  have  been  ministering  to  me  ever 
since.  All  this  you  have  done  for  me:  What 
have  I  done,  in  return,  for  you? " 

Helene  had  risen  and  walked  to  the  edge  of  the 
veranda.  She  leaned  against  its  withered  ram- 
blers. She  was  unnerved,  for  there  was  a  note  of 
passion  in  his  voice  she  had  never  heard  there 
before. 

Benedict  rose  and  followed  her.    He  went  on: 

"During  my  long  period  of  recovery,  I  have 
had  time  to  think.  A  life-long  devotion  deserves 

[415] 


more  than  gratitude.  Mine,  at  present,  is  bank- 
rupt ;  and,  in  that  case,  nothing  but  Love  can  pay 
the  debt!"  He  ended  with  effective  simplicity: 
"  And  God  knows  I  love  you." 

He  moved  near  to  her  now.  He  dared  not 
take  her  hand.  He  only  looked  into  her  eyes  to 
read  his  expected  answer.  '  Will  you  take  me, 
in  spite  of  my  faults?  I  have  learned  to  love  you 
and  only  you !  Don  't  tell  me  that  my  offence  is 
irreparable ;  I  have  strength,  and  health,  and  love 
enough  to  blot  it  out  forever!" 

The  look  she  gave  him  in  return  was  one  he  had 
never  seen  on  her  face  before.  The  smile,  the  all- 
concealing  smile  of  former  days,  had  vanished; 
and  one  of  inexpressible  joy  illumined  her 
countenance. 

"  You  have,  by  these  words,  made  payment  in 
full,"  she  said,  in  her  low  voice.  ;'  This  is  the  real 
Love;  I  need  not  question  it  now." 

Then  he  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  held  her  a 
moment,  her  head  resting  on  his  breast,  as  he 
murmured,  "  My  darling!  " 

"  One  by  one,  year  by  year,  century  by  cen- 
[416] 


THE    SMILE    OF    THE    SPHINX 

tury,  the  stones  were  laid  that  built  the  great 
pyramids  of  Egypt;  and  they  are  everlasting," 
he  said.  "  So  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year  your 
deeds  of  patient  endurance,  gentleness,  and  kind- 
ness have  raised  in  my  heart  the  indestructible 
pyramid  of  Love! " 

"But  you  are  teaching  me  the  meaning  of 
heaven  upon  earth,"  she  murmured  dreamily. 

"And  what  is  heaven,  if  not  the  vision  of 
noblest  desire  fulfilled ! "  And  he  put  his  lips  to 
her  shining  hair. 

"  Then  heaven  is  not  far  away." 

"How  can  it  be,  when  an  angel  stands  at  its 
portals!" 

"  But  the  angels  of  old  are  spoken  of  as,  *  two 
young  men.' ' 

"One  of  them  has  grown  older;  and  with  the 
years  has  learned  wisdom,  as  taught  by  you. 
For,  after  all,  it  is  wisdom  which  forms  the  true 
spiritual  bread  of  the  world." 

THE  END 


University  of  California 

sffiS 

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